


chiasma

by starxreactor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Extremis Tony Stark, Falling In Love, Fire, From Sex to Love, Hate Sex, Identity Porn, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Possessive Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Road Trips, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Threats of Violence, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starxreactor/pseuds/starxreactor
Summary: The thing is, Steve’s not entirely sure how it all started.Oh, he definitely knows when it happened, and what led up to that moment, but ask him later to explain what he was thinking in the heat of it all, and he has no idea. All he knows is that one moment he and Stark had been in one of their infamous screaming matches, and the next, he had Stark laid out on the floor as they thrust against each other in a mockery of love, mouths and hips locked together.Steve can’t explain what happened beyond a sudden burst of passion inflamed by the fact that his body suddenly forgot the difference between anger and arousal. He can’t explain why Stark went along with it without any sort of complaint. He can’t explain why he had enjoyed it—in fact, it was probably the most intense orgasm he’d ever had.But most of all, he can’t explain why and how it keeps happening.-Tony Stark is narcissistic. Self-absorbed. Selfish. Steve has no idea how Iron Man can stand working for him. Stark is a representation of everything Steve hates about the new century.So then why can't he stop falling in bed with him?





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for a while now. I have roughly two and a half chapters already written, and I was planning on writing everything up before posting, but I got tired of waiting, lol. Especially because I'm focusing on another project so I put this one in the backseat for now. I'm thinking that once I have at least one chapter posted I'll gain motivation to finish up the rest.
> 
> Thanks so much to [Lunatical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunatical/pseuds/Lunatical) and [FreyaS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaS/pseuds/FreyaS) for helping me with the fic . You guys are the best <3000 They're both amazing writers, so please check their works out!

The thing is, Steve’s not entirely sure how it all started.

Oh, he definitely knows when it happened, and what led up to that moment, but ask him later to explain what he was thinking in the heat of it all, and he has no idea. All he knows is that one moment he and Stark had been in one of their infamous screaming matches, and the next, he had Stark laid out on the floor as they thrust against each other in a mockery of love, mouths and hips locked together.

Steve can’t explain what happened beyond a sudden burst of passion inflamed by the fact that his body suddenly forgot the difference between anger and arousal. He can’t explain why Stark went along with it without any sort of complaint. He can’t explain why he had _ enjoyed _it—in fact, it was probably the most intense orgasm he’d ever had.

But most of all, he can’t explain why and how it keeps happening.

Steve doesn’t know what it says about him as a person that he keeps falling into bed with Stark, considering the man’s… _ abrasive _ nature. He’s loud and obnoxious, never listens to others, egotistical, and is the worst part of this new century. Everything Steve hates is embodied in this one person, who seems to have no other existence but to personally torment Steve. 

Okay, fine, maybe that’s a bit harsh. Stark does a lot of stuff, and he definitely isn’t around just to bother Steve. And, well, Stark _ has _improved from who he used to be. He doesn’t drink or party as much anymore, if at all, and Steve can’t exactly say he’s seen any of Stark’s supposed partners the tabloids are always talking about—well, besides him. But he doesn’t count. 

Really, Stark is mostly just… annoying now, from what he’s experienced. He is still incredibly selfish, seeing as how he can’t bother to help humanity other than by throwing his money around.

But Iron Man hates him, and Iron Man is—_Iron Man_. Out of anyone on the team, he knows Stark the best. He works for him, after all, and has worked for him for years. Iron Man doesn’t judge lightly, and he’s a hero. The best of them all. He’s kind, and generous, and so willing to give his life for the cause. If he dislikes Stark, then there’s a reason for it. A _damn_ _good _one.

That’s the reason why Steve can’t bring himself to say anything about his situation to Iron Man. Usually, he can tell him anything and everything, but there’s something about this ‘arrangement’ that he can’t form the words for. Maybe it’s his guilt, or something. That he would betray Iron Man in this way by sleeping with his awful boss. Repeatedly. 

Once, Steve asked Iron Man why he put up with him if he was so horrible. He couldn’t imagine dealing with such an unpleasant boss for so long.

Iron Man had simply said that he would put up with anything as long as it allowed him to save the world. And then, hesitantly, as though he expected Steve to judge him, he added the pay wasn’t too bad either.

Steve had only laughed at that, clapping a hand on Iron Man’s metal back, and said that he couldn’t blame him for that. Inwardly, though, he had been a little concerned about why Iron Man had almost expected Steve to—react badly to that. Steve was well aware of how it felt to be poor, living an impoverished, difficult life. If he had the opportunity to gain a lot of money while also doing the right thing, then he would take advantage of it. Of course, it wasn’t his main priority, but he _ got _it. He understood the struggle. And if the job itself wasn’t ethically questionable, then he didn’t see why there should be a problem with wanting money. 

Then he thought about Stark, and realized why Iron Man would be a bit reluctant to admit that. Money changes people, corrupts them. Or evil people just tend to get money more because of their greed and lack of remorse over using underhanded tactics. 

And that’s why Steve has to be some sort of awful to sleep with a man like that, and _ enjoy _it. He’s ashamed to admit that Stark is the best lay he’s ever had (not that he’s had many), and each time they go at it, it feels new and fresh. Exciting. 

Steve’s certain that by this point, whenever he gets mad, he’s just automatically going to pop a boner. He already has trouble looking at Stark’s sinful, pink lips and delicate hands without imagining how they look wrapped around his dick—because he knows from first-hand experience, and, god, he’s going to hell for this. 

He knows he needs to stop, but then Stark goes and runs his mouth again, and all Steve wants to do is to shut him up. Preferably by gagging him on his cock.

Steve’s mostly just surprised Stark hasn’t said anything about it yet. Usually, he’s incapable of keeping things to himself. Surely he’d be bragging about banging Captain America on the regular? But then, Steve thinks, recalling the way he acts whenever they do fuck, maybe he’s ashamed? Even Stark has to have some sort of limit. 

It’s probably not healthy, but Steve hasn’t really ever been healthy, so it figures that he develops some sort of—strange hatesex relationship. 

He wishes he could stop, tell Iron Man about it, but he can’t. It’s—he doesn’t even know—it’s like an addiction, inhaling smoke that he can’t ever breathe out, let go of, because he just wants more and _ more _. Stark’s an addiction, and the worst kind, because there’s nothing redeemable about him.

But he wants it so badly, damn the consequences.

It won’t end well, it never does, but Steve is somehow committed to his own self-destruction—like a moth to an open flame, he can’t stop himself from revolving around what will eventually lead to some sort of tragedy in the end. He’ll be burning, on fire, and it’ll be the best damn thing he’ll ever feel.

It’s not a surprise that Steve finds himself in another row with Stark.

He’s not even sure what it’s about, really, he just knows that he’d been incredibly pissed off (and, okay, maybe he had been finding an excuse to fuck Stark, because this is his life now). But he’d gone and accused Stark of something, who immediately bristled and went on the defensive, snapping back. And the whole thing devolved from there, as it always does. 

They know this game by now. They know how it always ends. But for whatever reason, they both refuse to stop (maybe because part of them _ wants _this thing? Not that Steve could ever admit that). Instead, they’ll keep on with this explosive relationship, two flames both attempting to survive and expand without ever connecting. They can’t both keep on like this, fighting for dominance.

But for now, Steve will keep at it.

Stark frowns at him with those sinful, pink lips, flames raging in the light of his eyes. Steve can’t help the surge of arousal at seeing him, at the thought of the white of his spend contrasting with Stark’s golden skin. His vision goes red, and he stops mid-rant, boxes Stark in against the wall, and slots their mouths together.

It’s a messy kiss, more teeth and tongue than anything else, just another battle fought in this strange war of theirs. They both want to control the other, both want total dominance, and so they fight with whatever they have. Stark pushes Steve back, attempting to turn the two of them so that Steve’s back is pressed against the wall, but then moments later Steve does the same, and they fall over instead. Now, Steve is kneeling over Stark, still kissing him, even as he reaches blindly for Stark’s pants, attempting to rip them off. 

He’s winning, so far, and when he manages to fuck Stark right there, on the floor, they both know it. He’ll take the victory for now.

Later, when he’s in his room and thinking of how beautiful Stark’s eyes had looked, all dark with eyelashes clumped together due to his tears, he manages to get off again. Steve doesn’t even take a second after his climax to rest, despite his still-heaving chest and racing heart. Instead, he thinks, _ Oh, fuck _. 

The thing is, Stark is an attractive man, especially for his age, and he knows it. He flaunts around, always teasing and flirting, but not expecting anything back. It had drawn Steve in before he realized just how awful Stark was, but as it turns out—Stark still has him in his grasp, even though he attempted to escape.

He wonders if he’ll always be in Stark’s orbit, just out of reach, or if there will be a time where they both head for each other and crash. They always seem to bring out the worst in each other, after all.

Steve can’t exactly deny that he’d always had that attraction to Stark. If he didn’t, this whole thing would never have started. But—it’s different, to be actively getting off on the man when he’s not here, to think that he looked beautiful even as Steve fucked him to the point of incoherence. 

If he goes any further, if he starts—liking Stark in some way, then he’s not sure what he’s going to do. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate to round onto Stark the moment he sees him, all flippant in his suit and sunglasses, like he did nothing wrong. “What the hell were you thinking, keeping Iron Man from us?” he demands. It had been a hard battle. Natasha had nearly gotten crushed, but had managed to survive with only a broken leg and several cracked ribs that she was incredibly pissed about. 

Iron Man _ should _have been there, but he had regretfully informed them that Stark needed him, and when they tried to contact Stark and convince him that this was an emergency, that Iron Man would be useful, he shut them down, saying he needed him more.

“I was thinking that he’s my bodyguard first, and an Avenger second. I needed him,” Stark retorts, voice cold. Behind the dark sunglasses, Steve can’t see his eyes. He wonders if they’re still wide, liquidy, the way they were when they—if they convey all the passion and desire they do whenever they have one of their flings. “Besides, you did well enough on your own.”

Steve nearly slams his fist into the wall. “Natasha almost died!” he shouts.

Stark falters, just for a second. It shouldn’t have been noticeable, but to Steve’s enhanced eyes, it was. He notices the way Stark steps to the side, leg buckling slightly, before he straightens again as if nothing happened, lifting his chin defiantly. “I—I didn’t know that,” Stark says slowly. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have—I swear, I studied whatever you were fighting. I thought it wouldn’t have been so hard for you, otherwise I never would have—I calculate these sorts of things. The probability of success without Iron Man was ninety-seven percent.”

“That’s three percent too little,” Steve snaps. “Iron Man is an Avenger, whether you like it or not.” And then, because he always has to run his big mouth, he continues, “Of course, you probably don’t like it, considering you were rejected for the initiative.”  
  
Stark frowns. Steve can tell he hit a nerve. “My assessment has nothing to do with this—”

“It has everything to do with this,” Steve cuts in, “if you hadn’t been so—if you weren’t _ you _ , then maybe you would have been accepted. But you’re—you’re arrogant, narcissistic, unlikeable— _ unloveable _. Not once did you consider that your selfish choice could have cost someone’s life. It nearly did. But that doesn’t matter to you, does it? It’s not like you have a heart, after all.” 

He knows he’s being unfair, at least in this particular moment, but this breakdown has been a long time coming. But then, Stark is just—_ Stark _ . He can’t summon up a word strong enough to describe just how— _ Stark _he is. There’s no getting around that fact. He’s been asking for a beatdown, and quite frankly, he deserves it. Because he’s not just being obnoxious this time around, he’s actively putting people in harm, in danger’s way, without a single thought for them. He’s preventing Iron Man from being a hero, and how is that going to look to the public? Suddenly, Iron Man disappears and one of the team members gets majorly hurt. No matter how they spin it, that’ll be a setback in the public’s eyes. Stark is too selfish, too self-absorbed, to ever consider any of that. So no, Steve feels no guilt, no remorse at all, for losing it like that. 

Stark crosses his arms. “Yeah,” he says quietly. There’s a hint of danger in his tone, and Steve very nearly wonders if he did cross a line. “I don’t.” Then he turns on his heel and stalks away.

Clint whistles as he sidles up to Steve’s side. “Damn, that sure was—something.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. If only he wasn’t in front of the rest of the team. Otherwise, he may have done something a bit more… intimate. He lets out a sigh, resting his back against the wall for a moment as he brushes a hand through his hair. It’s rare that he lets himself be vulnerable in front of the team like this. He trusts them, yes, and they trust him, but he still has a role to play, and he can’t let himself show weakness. 

They should really debrief, but—Steve’s not feeling it today. The adrenaline from the battle and his argument is wearing out, leaving him feeling exhausted down to the bone. Without saying anything more, he turns and heads to his room. 

Steve sits on his bed, hands on his knees, and blinks down at the floor. Downtime is usually not that fun. He doesn’t do much besides punch and kick in his life, so when he’s _ not _doing that, he finds himself bored, and with too much time on his hands to think about things he shouldn’t. He gets off, sometimes. More rarely he’ll start drawing in his sketchbook. It mostly has… pictures that would be very compromising for him if found.

Right now, he just sits there, thinking. About what, he’s not entirely sure. He just lets his mind drift off among the clouds, because it’s easier than living in the present.

It’s not too long after that he starts wondering if, maybe, he crossed the line. Now that he isn’t in the immediate heat of the moment, he finds himself ruminating on what he said to Stark. Yeah, Stark had been selfish, but—if he genuinely needed Iron Man, and he thought the team could manage, then maybe Steve shouldn’t have yelled at him like that? He’d said some _ awful _things. Things that only a bully would say. 

He shakes his head. He can’t start pitying Stark. He’s sure Iron Man would say the same. And—_ Iron Man _ would know why Stark needed him. Steve just needs to ask him what the reason was, and decide whether he was in the right or not. “JARVIS,” he says lowly. “Is there—is Iron Man around?”

“I’m afraid not, Captain, but I can let him know that he’s needed.” Is it just him, or is JARVIS’ voice colder than usual? For an AI, he’s usually very emotional and vivacious in his tone, but now all Steve can feel is the iciness of the Arctic as it enveloped him, _ drowned _ him—

“Y—yeah, that would be helpful. Thanks.”

It takes a few days for Steve to catch Iron Man. In that time, he hasn’t seen Stark once, and that just makes the guilt in the pit of his stomach roil even more. It’s just—Steve will admit that he has a tendency to speak or act first, and think later. It’s what got him into all those fights back before the serum. 

He’s not afraid to call out bullies, either, but he refuses to attack anyone who doesn’t deserve it. And Stark—while obnoxious, selfish, and self-absorbed—still didn’t deserve all those things screamed in his face. Or maybe he did, and Steve is feeling remorseful for no reason. Who knows.

“There you are!” Steve cries out when he sees Iron Man leave the blacked out workshop, moments after he asked for him. “Got a second? God, it feels like it’s been a while since I saw you.”

Iron Man pauses, then turns his head to face Steve. Although Steve has gotten accustomed to the blank faceplate staring at him, he can’t help the shiver going through him. Somehow, there’s a charged tension radiating from the glowing eyes. “Sure,” he says carefully. “And yeah, it has been a while. What’s up?”

Steve comes closer, placing an arm on Iron Man’s shoulder. “I just—uh, did Stark say anything about what happened a few days ago? After the battle?”

Iron Man shrugs lightly. “Not really. I heard him mumbling some stuff, but he hasn’t said anything to me. Why?” There’s a guarded, cautious note to his tone, and Steve can’t figure out why.

“I… said some stuff to him. Some bad stuff. Like, worse than normal. I was just—what was he doing that kept you from the battle? What could possibly be so important that—” Steve cuts himself off before he gets started again. “Right. Okay.”

Iron Man doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and Steve wishes, not for the first time, that he could see his face to try and tell what he’s thinking. But of course, he’s going to respect Iron Man’s desires, and if he doesn’t want to show his face, then that’s his prerogative. “It wasn’t… bad. It wasn’t anything like what you’re probably thinking.” There’s a scoffing sound. “Amazing, considering him. He—he went to an orphanage to teach the kids there about science. And he had me there to demonstrate the suit, and, well, keep him and the kids safe, since it was in a bad part of town.”

Steve blinks. In all the possible explanations he had thought up, whether or not they put Stark in a good light, he had never expected something like that. Not at all. And, well, he can’t help the slight warmth he feels in his chest at that, because the thought of—no, there’s no way he can fault Stark for that. Even if it wasn’t an emergency, Steve would—well, he probably would have gone to fight, but really, that’s a good thing that Stark did. He was helping others, children, and Steve can’t exactly bring it in himself to hate Stark for that. “Oh,” he says.

Just like that, the slow, simmering guilt that had welled up within him turns into a raging inferno, clawing at his insides, his heart. Stark had really just—done that, shown he had a heart, and Steve went and stomped on it instead. Regardless of whether Stark is still an obnoxious, awful person or not, Steve can’t help but feel that in this case, his harsh words were not warranted. “I—could you tell him I’m sorry?” Steve asks Iron Man. “For what I said, I mean.”

Steve can’t see Iron Man’s face, but he gets the feeling that he’s frowning. Then there’s a tinny sigh, and Iron Man says, “Well, I don’t know what exactly you said that made you feel so guilty, but if you want to apologize, you might as well do it to his face. Not that he’s really deserving of it, Winghead.”  
  
Steve smiles at the nickname, the way he always does whenever Iron Man uses it. “No, Shellhead, really, I get that he’s an asshole and all, but—in this case, at least, he didn’t deserve it. What I said.”  
  
“Oh.” Iron Man’s voice is quiet, and despite the voice modulator Steve can tell he’s upset or distressed in some way. Probably doesn’t agree with Steve’s intention to go apologize to Stark. 

Sometimes, the hatred Iron Man holds for his boss is so visceral and raw that it terrifies Steve to think that this kind, giving, selfless man could be capable of such—such _ bitterness _ . More than that, what could _ lead _him to that point. 

“Well, you should tell him, then,” Iron Man says after a pause, sounding more like himself. “He has to come out eventually.”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. He glances at the blacked out windows, then back at Iron Man. “You’re not… busy right now, are you? It’s been so long since we’ve spent time together. I miss you, Shellhead.” 

“I am, actually. Mr. Stark wanted me to check out an area that may have some of his weapons. It’s… probably bad that I’ve stayed to talk this long, actually.” Iron Man sounds purely regretful, and he claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Sorry, Winghead, but you can wait, right? Hopefully, it won’t take long.” He pauses, then says, “I miss you too, buddy.”

Steve tries his hardest to hide his disappointment. Since the two of them have started becoming closer, Stark has been getting in between the two of them—not intentionally, of course, Steve doesn’t think Stark cares enough to notice how close his bodyguard and Captain America are, but it still grates on him every time Iron Man has to fly off somewhere dangerous because his boss told him to. “Alright,” he says, as Iron Man heads off towards the elevator. “Be—be careful, yeah?”  
  
“Always,” Iron Man says, just before the elevator doors close on him. 

Iron Man always comes out of any scrape fine, but Steve still can’t help but worry. Sometimes, he swears Iron Man is lying about any injuries he has, but Steve can never tell, because the man refuses to remove any part of his armor, no matter how miniscule it is. He sighs and rubs a hand against his face. “JARVIS, can you try asking for Stark?”

There’s a pause, then JARVIS says, “I’m afraid he doesn’t want to speak right now, Captain. Perhaps you can try in a few hours.”

Steve didn’t really expect anything else, but he had hoped… “Yeah,” he says blandly.

A few hours turns into a day, and even then it’s only because Steve threatened to stay outside the workshop until Stark let him in. Maybe he should feel bad about forcing his way in like that, but he knows Stark enough to know that had he really minded, he would have let Steve do exactly that. The man is just as stubborn as Steve is.

The door slides open, revealing Stark’s lab. Steve’s been in it more times than he wants to admit, though it was always with the red haze of anger or arousal. It’s the first time that he has a clear head when looking at it, and even Steve will admit that it’s awe-inspiring, with the gentle blue glow washing over them. There’s several holograms scattered about the room, and Steve can see many suits on display in the back. There’s one suit that’s partially taken apart, and it’s clear that Stark was working on it just now. 

“What do you want, Cap?” Stark says conversationally, rubbing a towel over his hands. “If this is a booty call, then this is one weird way to do it. I know you’re from the forties and all, but texting or even a call would work better.”

Steve tamps down the initial rush of frustration that he never fails to feel when talking with Stark for more than two seconds. Now is not the time. “No, this isn’t—that, I just. I wanted to apologize for what I said,” Steve blurts out. “Right after the latest battle. I’m sure you know what I mean.” God, this is a mess. He should just stop talking before he says anything else he regrets.

Stark frowns and blinks in surprise. “What, that I don’t have a heart? Uh, it’s great that you have your whole…” He waves a hand in Steve’s general direction, “goody-two-shoes thing going on, but really, that’s not even in the top ten worst things I’ve been told. Try harder next time.” And then he turns back to the armor as though Steve doesn’t even exist.

Steve is dumbstruck. His mouth is parted slightly, eyes wide. He had expected a lot of things. He’d expected anger, snide remarks about Steve, but this? Completely waving off Steve’s apology, not even being the slightest bit _ hurt _ by what Steve said, and telling him to try harder? What the actual hell? Not for the first time, Steve wonders why the hell Stark is so _ difficult _. Why he can’t just accept things like a normal person.

All those hours, _ days _ he spent agonizing over accidentally hurting Stark beyond repair, only for it to turn out that—Stark really must not have a heart, for him to not be the slightest bit distressed over what Steve said. Steve feels the anger build up again, threatening to spill over. 

He steps forward, grabbing Stark’s arm harshly and pulling him so that they’re face to face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he hisses. “Why can’t you just—take things normally? You just always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

“Let go of my arm,” Stark says calmly. Steve pulls it back as if burnt. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it so tightly. Although he’s had moments where Stark is acting so obnoxious Steve just wants to punch him, he’s never been physical—well, he’s never intentionally tried to hurt him outside of their trysts, and during those moments Stark gives as good as he gets.

“I—sorry,” Steve stutters, because he still has manners, standards. Unlike some people. He takes a deep breath, realizing he had just been about to break into another argument, because that’s all they ever do, don’t they? Fight and then fuck. It’s a toxic cycle that for whatever reason, they can’t break themselves out of. “Why do we always do this?”

Stark frowns. For a moment, he opens his mouth, before closing it again. His face goes blank, and Steve wonders what he was just about to say. “Be more specific, ice cap. What do we always do?”

“You know,” Steve snaps, “don’t act stupid. That’s not you.”

Stark frowns again, because seemingly that’s all he can ever do in Steve’s presence. “You don’t know what I am.” His voice is biting, edged with bitter frost. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Steve immediately rises to the bait, although he knows he shouldn’t. It’s just—his _ tone _. Like Steve couldn’t possibly know what he’s like. “I know that you’re a selfish, narcissistic slut,” he snaps heatedly. “I know that you don’t care about anyone but yourself. I know that your bodyguard hates you with a burning passion, and if he does, then it must be for a reason.”

Stark laughs, sharp and acidic and bitter. “Oh, really, Rogers? So what? Stop acting so noble, like you’re above me.”

Steve stills. He can hear his heart pounding. “What are you talking about?”

“_ I’m _the slut, but you initiate everything. Every single time,” Stark says, crossing his arms over his chest. There isn’t exactly a smirk on his face, but Steve can feel the smugness radiating out of every pore, as though Stark thinks he’s won. “You can’t assume the higher ground when you’re the one lowering yourself to my position. What does it say about you that you come back to me, again and again and again?”

“Shut the hell up,” Steve says, hating that it’s true. That he has a point. He hates sounding so egotistical, but he can’t deny that he’s a hell of a lot better as a person than Stark. At least he has morals. At least he didn’t create an empire built on top of all the innocents he murdered. And yet, this is the man that Steve has chosen to sleep with, time and time again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do, Rogers,” Stark says quietly, and just like that, the tables have turned. He tilts his head, tapping a finger against his chin in mock thought. “Let me guess, you feel like you’re betraying your best friend, Iron Man, by sleeping with his asshole boss. By fucking him over and over and _ knowing _that he’s the best lay you’ve ever had. But you can’t stop, because you love the feeling. You love the feeling of letting yourself go, showing that you’re no better than me. You’re addicted to it.” He steps closer, into Steve’s personal space, and Steve lets him. He’s hardly breathing, as still as the ice that encased him. Stark leans forward, until his lips are nearly touching Steve’s ear, and he breathes, “How does it feel, Cap? To know that no matter what you do, you can’t let go of me?”

Steve grabs him by the arm again, bending him over the nearest worktable, and all he knows after that is the haze of heat and pleasure.

It’s an addiction.

That’s all Steve can come to the conclusion to. That this thing with Stark, these trysts and these fights, they’re an addiction. Not just the part where he gets a good orgasm, but the yelling, the—the arguing. It makes his blood boil, heat him up in ways that he hasn’t felt since the ice. But he _ loves _ it, because for once, he’s feeling _ something _.

That’s the only way he can describe it. 

Stark, unfortunately, made some good points the other day. That Steve can’t act like he has the moral high ground when he does the exact same thing as Stark, lowers himself to his level. Steve’s aware that he gets too self-righteous sometimes, tends to posit himself as more moral than anyone else. He doesn’t _ really _think that, but sometimes it happens considering the kinds of people he’s in regular contact with. Like Stark, or the SHIELD higher-ups. Government officials and benefactors.

But he’s starting to wonder what it is about Stark that makes him so—compelling. There has to be more to him than just what he puts out for the world to see. Steve got hints of that, has been for a while. He just never—took the time to look at them. 

He decides to spar with Iron Man.

They’re a well-oiled machine, fluid in their movements. They’ve fought together so much by this point that they can always predict the next move, the next strike. 

Steve gazes at the gleaming armor, ruby red and shiny gold. The way it moves, almost like an actual human does. But of course, there’s a person under the armor. Steve is ashamed to admit that he forgets that fact sometimes. Other times, it’s all he can think about—imagining slipping off the armor, piece by piece, revealing the man underneath. He’s gorgeous, brown-eyed, full lips, dark hair. He smiles and says, “Hey, winghead,” just before kissing him—

The blow snaps him out of his thoughts. It’s not hard enough to leave a mark, barely stings, but Steve collapses onto his ass.

“Woah, Cap, what happened there?” Iron Man leans over and offers a gauntleted hand, which Steve gratefully takes.

“I guess I got—lost in thought,” Steve says slowly as he pulls himself up. He tries his hardest not to blush at the memory of the image. Compared to what he’s been getting up to in the last few months, a simple, chaste kiss is nothing to get embarrassed about. 

Instead of revealing what he was actually thinking, he asks, “Why do you hate Stark so much?” because that’s also been something that’s been on his mind lately, and it’s much easier a conversation to handle than—whatever that was. 

Iron Man stills, slightly. “What do you mean?”

Steve sighs and heads over to get a towel to wipe the sweat off his face. He figures they’re done with the sparring session now. “Just—I know that you hate him, everyone does except him, probably, but _ why _? What did he do to you to—inspire that level of hatred?”

There is silence. Steve turns around to face Iron Man as he grabs a towel, rubbing the back of his neck with it. “It’s… complicated,” Iron Man says finally. Obviously, Steve can’t see his face to get an idea of what he’s feeling, but there’s hesitance in the modulated voice. 

“Then explain. I’ve got time.” To prove his point, Steve sits down on a nearby bench.

There’s a staticky sigh, and Iron Man says, “He’s just… not a good person, Cap. I’ve known him even before I became Iron Man. And the way he was back then, it was awful. A girl every night, sometimes multiple. Selfish. Alcoholic. Self-absorbed. All he cared about was the next fun thing, not once thought to pay attention what was going on in his company. Sure, he stopped weapons production eventually, but only once the terror that he built his company on reached him.” Iron Man crosses his arms over his chest, obscuring the brilliantly shining arc reactor. “I guess it doesn’t reflect well on me that I associate myself with his type, isn’t it? I shouldn’t—work for him. But I can’t do that, because then I’d be leaving everyone defenseless.”

“No, you’re not doing anything wrong,” Steve says quickly, always ready to defend Iron Man—even from himself. “You’re a hero. You’re doing the right thing.”

“Thanks, Cap,” Iron Man says. Even with the modulator, Steve can detect a dullness to his tone.

“It’s just—” Steve runs his tongue over his teeth, thinking of how to put this, “—he’s not all bad, is he?” And there it is, the thing that he’s been ruminating on for days, ever since he talked to Iron Man after that disastrous battle. “He did that… thing for the kids. That was nice of him. I can’t see many billionaires doing that in this day and age.”

“Trust me, Cap. I was there. It was for show. You think he cares? He doesn’t. He just does stuff like this—charity, outreach, foundations—to pretend to the public that he’s a decent person. Besides, there was no… there was no issue where he was, but he refused to let me go to the battle. He would have been completely fine even if I wasn’t there.”

Steve frowns, heart sinking. That’s… true. Iron Man has a point. And, well, Iron Man knows Stark best. He should have known it was too good to be true. Stark hasn’t exactly—shown himself to be anything more than what Steve thinks he is. He’d just been too focused on finding the good in him, like he always tries to. Steve doesn’t like imagining that some people just aren’t redeemable. But here, in this unfamiliar century where everyone is cold and distant and untrusting, he’s starting to think more and more that, possibly, some people don’t _ have _any goodness within them. They’re just—rotten to the core.

Maybe Iron Man is right, and Stark really _ is _ a monster. But then can Steve be any better by doing—whatever it is that he’s doing?

Tony Stark is a selfish, irredeemable bastard. He’s not done one good thing in his life out of the goodness of his heart—of course he can’t considering he doesn’t have one. Iron Man’s right.

Still, he feels like he’s missing something.


	2. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on holding onto for this for a little longer, but one thing you need to know about me is that I'm very impatient.
> 
> Warnings: Tony has an infected wound. It's not very detailed, but if that squicks anyone out please be careful.

Tony knows he should stop this thing, whatever it is. 

It’s not good, not for his mental and emotional health—and it  _ has  _ fucked with his head, because quite frankly, it can be exhausting to be intensely hated just for existing one moment, and then another, being appreciated to the point where he wonders if Steve thinks he’s the only good thing in his life. 

After every single encounter, when he’s all fucked out and Steve is leaking his spend, he lies down, staring off at nothing. After every single encounter, it becomes harder and harder to walk away and keep up this farce, of accepting pure and blind hatred, of clinging onto the little comfort he gets as Iron Man.

And that’s the irony of it all, isn’t it? That he’s simultaneously Iron Man, the person Steve probably cares about most in the modern world, and Tony Stark, the person Steve hates the most in the modern world. More than some supervillain, some shitty politician, Steve hates _ him _ (Tony would know, Steve whispers it enough as he plows his dick into Tony’s aching ass, hard enough to bruise).

But then, when he’s Iron Man, Steve is all sunshine and smiles—the golden, all-American man everyone thinks he is. He hugs Iron Man, despite the hard armor being in the way, always listens to him when he has to rant about Tony Stark, takes him out on friendly outings like diners and arcades and god knows what else. It’s a painful contrast, like heat on frostbitten skin. 

Tony’s learned to latch onto what he gets as Iron Man, because it’s the closest he’ll get to ever being  _ with  _ Steve. He knows what Steve thinks of the man inside, so he’s forever grateful for the positive attention he receives as Iron Man. 

Sometimes, (always) he feels guilty for lying to Steve. He knows that if Steve  _ knew  _ who he was, who the monster under the armor was, he wouldn’t think so highly of Iron Man then. He’s essentially—taking advantage of him, of his trust, of his good nature. 

Then, almost hilariously, these illicit trysts started. Before, Tony was able to get into the mindset of Iron Man enough that it wasn’t too hard to spend time with Steve knowing he’ll never get closer. Now, it’s as though Tony’s constantly having his heart ripped out of his chest—if he had a heart, of course, because he doesn’t, that’s why Steve hates him—and yet Tony doesn’t think the agony he goes through every day could be worse  _ with _ a heart. There’s a gaping hole there, festering and rotting and worsening with each passing day.

That’s not to say that it isn’t consensual—it is, one hundred percent. Tony would annihilate anyone who tried to take advantage of him. Steve would never do that, anyway. It’s just—not entirely what Tony wants sometimes, in the sense that he wishes there could be a better way. That this isn’t the entire scope of their civilian relationship—fighting and fucking.

Because every single fuck, every single game they play, Tony wishes for something more. He’s not against rough, kinky sex, not at all, but he’d like what comes after, too. The cuddles. The kisses. The affirmation that he’s loved, that the harsh treatment was just a game, an idea they were messing around with. That it’s not actually true. 

And instead, every single time, after Steve has brutally fucked his throat or Tony has clawed literal scars into his back, Tony lies down, utterly exhausted, covered in fluids, while Steve leaves him there. 

Is it strange that Tony has managed to fall in love with someone who can’t stand the sight of him, who would rather die than ever say something nice to him? And is it even stranger that, despite loving him, despite spending most of his time with him, he still finds himself getting riled up whenever they talk (fight), leading to this whole mess? 

Of course, part of it is him playing the part. He’s been doing that since he was born, because it was the only way he can survive in a world that only seems to want to bite chunks of his humanity out of him. It’s why he still acts out the way he did, like he hasn’t changed a bit since Afghanistan. The only thing that really stopped is the endless stream of one-night stands. Tony doesn’t really have the time or inclination to be touched by strangers. Doing it with Steve is hard enough.

He needs to stop this, he tells himself. Everyday will be the day where he decides, he’s not going to continue this thing. He knows Steve. He’ll accept it. He won’t ever make a move again, no matter how mad or horny or frustrated he is. He would never force Tony into doing something he doesn’t want. He’s just—not that kind of person. He’s  _ good _ . He’s kind. He’s a hero. 

And Tony is not—which is why Steve dislikes him so much. 

And, well, Tony  _ does  _ want it. In the moment, he does, anyway. Because as much as he loves Steve, he still gets frustrated at him whenever they have another fight. He still enjoys blowing off the steam by fucking Steve into the floor. It’s just—the after part. Where he wishes he could have something more. He can barely admit it to himself, though, because that would be acknowledging how pathetic he is for getting hung up over a man who doesn’t even like him. 

He won’t ever have anything more, though, because Steve doesn’t love him, and if (when) he finds out the truth about Iron Man, he won’t love him then either. So Tony takes what he can get, because if he closes his eyes he can pretend that Steve is making love to him, just—harshly, because it’s what Tony wants. 

God, he hates himself. 

Steve does, too, so it’s okay. 

It’s very quiet. 

Of course it is, it’s the middle of the night. Tony’s not sure why he’s awake, but only because if he did know, that would be admitting that his nightmares scare him. They don’t. He’s strong, he’s iron. He doesn’t bend for anything (well, he’ll bend  _ over _ ). 

It’s peaceful, actually. Tony doesn’t come out from his workshop much while the team is there—well, not as himself, at least. They much prefer Iron Man, so that’s what he gives them. 

But sitting here, alone, with only the pale moonlight for company, he can admit that it’s calm. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of his life, which seems to be fired up by the rage of the sun, always on the move, explosive, angry. Never stopping to give him a break.

He prefers it that way, usually. Well, he prefers most of it. Sometimes he thinks it would be nice if there were more people that cared about him and not Iron Man. But for the most part, he likes the fast pace.

It’s only when he  _ has _ the time to slow down and think that he starts considering what it’s like to be… calmer. More temperate. Like the glassy surface of a still pond. Silvery, pale, and cold—the moon. 

Tony frowns as he sits there, nursing his warm cup of coffee, ruminating on his life. He’s—doing okay, he thinks. There are some aspects that could be better (Steve always Steve), but he likes the team. He likes helping people, even if they don’t know it’s him. It’s better that way, really. No one would trust Iron Man if they knew who was the pilot behind the armor. It’s why he chose not to reveal himself in the end—his initial reaction had been to do just that, because, well, Tony knew how people feared the unknown. How could they be expected to trust a superhero who they didn’t even know the name of? 

Then Tony thought, they would trust that person over  _ him _ . They would trust anyone over him. He was a drunken mess, a narcissistic playboy, with little to no redeeming qualities to the public (and, possibly, to himself). And so he stood there in that press conference and lied through his teeth that Iron Man was a bodyguard slash hero.

No one knows the truth. Not SHIELD, not the Avengers. The only ones who do are Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey, and Tony regrets telling even them. Sometimes it’s lonely, but Tony prefers it this way. SHIELD would try to control him even more than they already want to. The others wouldn’t take him seriously. They would hate Iron Man, and then Tony really wouldn’t have any friends on the team.

After all, Tony has done nothing to change that impression people have of him. Even if he’s… calmed down a bit in recent years, he’s still nothing more than a selfish, alcoholic billionaire in everyone’s eyes (including his own).

They wouldn’t believe the charity work he does, the fact that he goes out regularly to orphanages to teach the kids about science, because  _ someone  _ has to. He really wasn’t lying about that when he told Steve as Iron Man.

To be honest, Tony’s not certain why he told Steve in the first place. Maybe he’d been desperate for some sort of approval, desperate to alleviate the guilt that was settling in his heart like a stone? It had come from a place of vulnerability, that was for certain, because Tony had felt  _ awful _ when he realized what he had done. 

It was true that he had gone out to the orphanage. When he heard about the battle, he immediately calculated the probability of success. He’d been in a tight situation, where he couldn’t just abandon the children, but he couldn’t abandon the world, either. Sending JARVIS as Iron Man would have been too risky, because the team would have caught on that it wasn’t  _ their  _ Shellhead. He’d done it before, but only when they were in a tight spot, and for a short amount of time where JARVIS wouldn’t have to interact with anyone. Never in a—battle. Tony trusted JARVIS with his life, he really did, but he still didn’t want to take the chance. And so he chose to base his trust in the calculation, because it was all he had, and didn’t go out.

It was just one mistake out of his many.

The aftermath, admittedly, wasn’t horrible. It could have been much worse. But it shouldn’t have  _ happened _ . If he had been there, it wouldn’t have happened. And Steve was—angry at him again. Usually, when Steve got angry at Tony, it was for some dumb shit he said, and Steve would get over it in a few hours. But now he had a legitimate reason to be angry.

Tony drains the last bit of his coffee, setting the mug in the dishwasher, before heading back to his room, ignoring the flare of pain in his side as he moves. After New York, he’s slept even less than he already did, but dark, heavy lethargy is wrapping itself around his chest, to the point that all he wants to do is lie in bed. It gets like this, sometimes, when he’s had the time to stop and think. Usually, Tony can drown out the black sickness of his mind with tinkering, SI, and Iron Man, but in the quiet of the night, when all is silent, he has nothing to fall back on—and so his mind swirls with darkness and depression.

He hisses at a flash of pain, stronger than the usual soreness, as he crawls into bed, quickly lifting his shirt up to check on the bandages. He sees a tinge of pink, but it isn’t getting darker or spreading, so he supposes he can wait until morning to redress the wound. He’d gotten injured on his latest mission, a shallow yet long gash on his side, about six inches across his hip and abs, and stitched it up himself. It’s nothing serious, really. He’s had worse.

Steve had been rough, after, and the stitches tore, slightly. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. Tony never takes off his shirt. But he hadn’t realized right away, too caught up in the adrenaline. Even as he came down from the high, he’d been distracted by other things. It wasn’t until a few hours later that he checked the bandages and realized he’d started bleeding again.

Sometimes, it’s moments like this where he wonders, maybe it would just be easier if everyone knew—or at least, his friends did. It’s not… it’s not that he wants proper medical attention—he’d probably be stitching up his injuries himself either way—but—he just—he doesn’t know. Maybe someone to worry about him? To care about where he’s been, what he’s been doing, if he’s okay.

No. He’s being pathetic and vulnerable, and that’s not what’s expected of him. Not of Tony Stark or of Iron Man. 

His gaze catches sight of the open letter on his nightstand. The one threatening Iron Man if he doesn’t comply with their demands. He’d gotten it the day before, and ignored it because Tony doesn’t exactly care what they’ll do to “Iron Man.” He picks it up and shoves it into his nightstand drawer, hiding it. There were a few others, earlier, but they gradually grew more aggressive and threatening the longer Tony ignored them. Not that he cares. He’s gotten thousands of threats and only a small percentage of them ever come to fruition.

Tony lies back and sighs, closing his eyes and ignoring the stinging in his side. He feels a little warm, so he throws the covers off to the side.

He definitely does not wish Steve was there beside him, holding him close,  _ loving _ him. Despite his restless thoughts, he falls asleep quickly and dreamlessly. 

Tony finds himself in his lab the next day, wincing as he applies Neosporin to his cut. He’d kept it clean, neat, the way it should be, but for some reason it’s still inflamed and incredibly sensitive, and the redness seems to be spreading. It would be just his luck—getting an infection. 

“Sir, I believe you should get medical attention before your injury worsens any further. Your temperature has risen to thirty-seven point eight degrees Celsius, indicating a fever.”

“No, J,” Tony mumbles, though he realizes that that might explain why he feels so hot, so sweaty, “it’s fine.” He grabs the mirror and takes another look at the wound. It’s… not looking too great, all red and swollen, but Tony doesn’t say that, because then that would be admitting weakness, it would be admitting that something is wrong and that he can’t deal with it—which is totally wrong, he  _ can _ . “I’ll be fine. I’ve been treating my own injuries for years, and have those ever gotten infected?”

“There’s a first time for everything,” JARVIS retorts. “And I’m afraid that this may be that occasion.”

“Mute,” Tony says, not interested in hearing JARVIS’ nagging at the moment. He finds himself absorbed in cleaning up the cut—a little too absorbed, because he startles when a voice breaks him out of his reverie. 

“Stark?”

Tony drops the pad of gauze he was holding. “Fuck!” And then he looks up at the person he wants to see least in the world right now, and quickly lowers his shirt. “What the—how the hell did you get in here? JARVIS!”

There’s no response, and Tony hisses, “Unmute,” as he picks up whatever he dropped, realizing that all his first aid equipment is set out in plain sight, and that there’s no way he can just hide it and pretend there’s nothing wrong. Steve stands there, staring at him with a deep frown.

“You muted me, Sir. I couldn’t warn you. And you had forgotten to lock the workshop.”

“Dammit,” Tony whispers.

“What is all this, Stark?” Steve asks, gesturing at the medical equipment.

Tony sighs and lifts his shirt back up, because Steve knows anyway, and he has to dress the wound anyway. He puts aside the gauze he dropped, now that it’s not sterile. He takes a deep breath, saying airily, “Just a little workshop accident. Nothing to worry about.”

Steve leans closer, staring intently at the cut. Tony turns away slightly, attempting to hide it from view. “That looks old. And infected. Did you see a doctor?”

“Yeah, I did,” Tony lies. “Can you leave? Or just wait to tell me whatever it is you wanted?”   
  
Steve shakes his head. “It’s not important.” He reaches out a hand for a second, before snapping it back to his side. “Can I—I can help,” he offers.   
  
“No,” Tony says. “I’m fine.” And then Steve lays the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead. “Hey!”

“You’re burning up,” Steve murmurs. “And sweaty. Please let me help.” Before Tony can say anything, he snatches up the disinfectant and wipes his hands with it, before pulling on a pair of gloves. “And why the hell are you dealing with this on your own?” 

“Cap, if I made a fuss every time I got injured, I would never leave the hospital,” Tony says as he picks up the bandages. Gently, Steve reaches over and takes them into his own hands. Tony’s hands are shaking, weak. He doesn’t know why he yielded so easily.

He blinks up at Steve, who leans over, uncomfortably close, and begins to look over the wound, dabbing at it with more Neosporin. 

This close, Tony could just—lean up and kiss him. They’ve done it before, so it’s not like Tony should be scared. But something keeps him from it. It’s—not right, not in this context. He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve Steve. 

Eventually, Steve wraps the injury up, checking Tony’s temperature once more, this time with a thermometer, before clicking his tongue at the reading. “This is just for now, Stark. The wound is already infected.”

Tony wonders why he suddenly cares so much, and why he let Steve help in the first place. He sits there, watching Steve as he cleans up the mess, cleans off his hands. Suddenly, Steve grabs his arms and pulls him up. “What are you doing?” Tony protests weakly, attempting to escape the grip, but he might as well have pushed against a brick wall. Steve herds him towards the entrance of the lab, all the way to the elevator. 

Tony could resist, the way he always does, but instead he sags in Steve’s hold. He’s so very tired, weariness drilling deep in him, down to the bone. He just—doesn’t have the strength to argue, not today. 

“I’m putting you to bed, since you can’t seem to take care of yourself. You have a fever, Stark, and for some reason you were dealing with that cut yourself. It’s not—never mind that right now. Just—” Steve cuts himself off as the elevator doors open, revealing Tony’s penthouse—well, the hallway, anyway. 

Steve’s never been up here. They’ve never fucked on his floor, much less his bedroom. 

“At the end of the hall on the left,” JARVIS helpfully provides.

Steve helps him to his room, and Tony expects him to just—toss him into bed or something, but instead he gently lowers him onto it, before tucking the covers around him. Tony watches with wide eyes as he leaves for a moment, and then returns with a glass of water, which he sets on the nightstand. 

“Wh—” Tony stops, clears his throat so that his voice isn’t so raspy, “why are you helping me?”

“Why are you letting me?” Steve retorts, before deflating. “Sorry, that was—I can’t just let people suffer. I need to help them.” He looks over at Tony, and there is something glimmering in the depths of those blue eyes, something soft and subtle and entirely vulnerable, like he knows just what Tony is thinking in this moment. “No matter who they are.”

Tony is uncomfortably reminded of how good Steve Rogers is, how pure and selfless and giving. In the face of all that lightness, he feels like a dirty stain. A smear of darkness, marring the pristine white. He doesn’t deserve Steve. He doesn’t deserve to call him a friend, to love him. He’d only taint him, corrupt him, the way he always does. He destroys everything he ever touches, like a disease.

Steve presses his hand to Tony’s forehead again, checking for temperature in the most archaic, old man way possible, but Tony only feels a gentle rush of love, followed by cold, vicious self-loathing, striking him like lightning. He’ll never have this for himself. Steve is just taking pity on him. 

Steve takes his hand away, and Tony almost begs for him to keep it there. “You’re still hot,” Steve says, frowning. His gaze flickers down to meet Tony’s, and from here Tony can count each individual eyelash, see the way they shine in the light like the purest of gold. “You should sleep.”

There’s a million things Tony could say, each more cutting than the last. He could flirt with him, pull out a classic, “Only if you’re in bed as well.” He could scream, he could rage, push Steve away with the force of his fire. 

What he does is relax into the comfort of the bed, shutting his eyes, and drifting off to the knowledge that Steve is right there, that Steve will take care of him. 

He thought it would be peaceful, sleeping, but it’s anything but that. It’s a fitful rest, one broken up by bouts of searing pain in his side that makes Tony scream, voices above him that sound frantic, worried. He thrashes from the agony, and something brushes his sweat-soaked hair back, shushing him. At one point, he feels like he’s moving, vertigo hitting him like a brick, and he feels himself vomiting. Tears leak out of his eyes, beyond his control, but he just wants all the chaos and sounds to stop, to leave him alone in tranquil darkness.

Then, he falls back into blissful unconsciousness, only to wake to the same situation. He feels hot, and yet so cold at the same time. He can’t stop shivering like he’s freezing, but he’s sweating like it’s the height of summer, and it’s so hot, it’s so cold, it hurts, he wants it all to  _ stop _ —the voices are hushed, but sharp, and yet Tony’s head feels muffled, all fogged up and slow.

“...Contained…”

“Should...get help...?”

“...Fine…”

He wakes, sometimes, and sees a blur of gold and blue, and Tony reaches out to it, wanting the colors to melt all over him, make him bright and happy and save him from the agony of this world—

Tony wakes up, and mercifully he can think this time around. He doesn’t recall much after Steve told him to sleep, beyond flashes of hot and cold and pain. He doesn’t think he wants to remember.

He glances around, and he’s not in his bedroom anymore. He’s in the tower’s medical wing, separated from everyone else. 

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice says. Tony’s head snaps over to look at Steve.

“What—why are you here?” Tony means for his voice to come out as accusing, biting, because Steve  _ saw _ all that, saw his vulnerability,  _ helped  _ him treat his injury, but it’s just tired. Exhausted.

“I was worried about you,” Steve says, shrugging. “I guess that happens when you spend days trying to help treat an infection.”

“What…” Tony murmurs, half to himself. He trails off.

Steve leans forward. “What happened?” he supplies, saying the question Tony hadn’t. “I helped you treat your injury, but it was already infected by that point. You had a fever, but you didn’t seem to notice or care. I got you to bed, and then got Bruce. And then we spent a good few days trying to keep the infection from spreading, and treating you for your fever. It finally broke a few hours ago.”

“Oh,” Tony says blankly. Inwardly, he wants to scream. For years—for fucking years, he’s kept being Iron Man secret, and sure, it seems like it’s still a secret, but he had to go and get an infected cut, and Steve and Bruce had to help him, and god knows how they’re going to treat him now that they’ve seen him all vulnerable and on the verge of death. 

Steve is studying him carefully, eyes narrowed and pink lips pressed flush together. “You didn’t get that cut from a lab accident.”

“How do you know?” Tony retorts, because  _ fuck _ .

“I just know,” Steve says cryptically. “It was clear you were lying. When I found you, you were already kind of delirious from the fever.”

Tony hadn’t realized. He thought his head was crystal clear and unaffected at that point. “I… fine. It was a mugging,” he lies. There’s no way Steve can argue with that, can he?

“A mugging?” Steve echoes, eyebrows raised. “Where was your bodyguard?”

“On a mission,” Tony bites off, and that’s not even wrong, since technically, he  _ got  _ that cut on the mission. 

Steve frowns again, which is all he ever seems to do in Tony’s presence. “So, then, you were injured when we… when I apologized, and during what happened after?”

“No, it happened after,” Tony says immediately, because he’s pretty certain it did. He’s hot, slightly, palms clammy and sweating. He feels like he’s pinned up to a wall like an insect, everything on display for Steve to scrutinize in full detail. 

“You’re lying.” The words resound in the room, bouncing off the walls and hitting Tony with full force, stabbing into him like needles. How could Steve have figured that out? What could have told Steve that he was lying? There was nothing, except, no,  _ fuck _ , it actually happened—

“I know all the missions Iron Man goes on, and unless he went on a secret one without telling me, which makes no sense, the last mission he went on was right before I apologized. And he was back by then.” Dammit. Dammit, dammit,  _ dammit _ . Apparently, the infection fucked with Tony’s head enough to make him forget an important detail like that. “So you did have that injury when we—when we—” Steve cuts himself off, a red flush creeping up his neck and curling around his ears.

Tony raises an eyebrow, trying to gather the shattered pieces of his mask and reassembling it. “What? Those forties sensibilities suddenly making it hard to say the word ‘fuck?’”

Steve doesn’t rise to the bait, for once. “It’s—because we never really—talk about  _ it _ just like that.” He tilts his head slightly, glaring at Tony. “Don’t change the topic. You were injured, and just let me throw you around like that.”

Steve has an eidetic memory. There’s no way Tony can convince him he’s remembering wrong due to the heat of the moment. 

“And you deliberately lied to me twice, to cover up how you got that injury, and when,” Steve continues. “I just don’t understand why? It doesn’t fit with what I know about you.”

Tony feels a deep pressure in his chest, around his arc reactor, the way he felt it the last time Steve implied he truly knew Tony. His voice is soft as he says, “And I said before that you don’t know anything about me.”   
  
Steve seems to realize he crossed a line with that, and attempts to backtrack. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that—I know that we don’t—fuck, I keep messing this up—”   
  
“Get out,” Tony says, because Steve doesn’t know him, he doesn’t know Tony Stark, and he never will. Tony will make sure, with every bit of power he has, that Steve will never see beyond the first, shallow layer. At least this way, Tony has control. He has influence over what Steve knows, so it—it hurts less that Steve hates him, because Tony  _ made  _ it that way. 

If Steve knew Tony, the real him, and still hated him, Tony doesn’t know if he would survive that. 

Steve doesn’t argue. He simply heads out, only stopping to say, “Bruce will be by later, I think.”

Tony doesn’t respond, turning onto his uninjured side and staring at the wall. He thinks maybe tears collect in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall. He’s made of iron. 

It’s late at night and Tony’s still awake, which is fine. He doesn’t sleep much anyway. 

Thoughts of Steve flash in his mind, too muddled and rapid for him to make any sense of them. He wonders if they were fated to be like this—bitter enemies, always spitting and fighting. It doesn’t seem right. Surely there’s a universe where they managed to become close friends, and possibly something more? 

Tony’s gone over their first meeting—not as Captain America and Iron Man, but as Steve Rogers and Tony Stark—more times than he would like to admit, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. What the catalyst that led to this mess was, or if it was just—innate. Meant to happen, no matter what. Destiny, and all that crap.

_ It’s 2012. New York has just been attacked by an army of aliens, before a ragtag group of heroes defeated them. Tony just fell out of a wormhole in the sky half-dead, and no one knows it was him.  _

_ He’s hungry. Starving, really, the way he always gets after a near-death or traumatic, upsetting experience. Maybe shawarma will be good, whatever that is. But he can’t—exactly eat it with the others. Not without difficulty, at least.  _

_ Guess he’ll have to wait to try it, then.  _

_ Tony’s silent as they all regroup before heading to the tower’s penthouse, where they arrest Loki. Afterwards, when they’ve managed to all collect their bearings and figure out where to go from here, he says, “Stark called me. He’s offering you guys a place in the tower. Says it might be useful to have the team all in one place later on.” He tries not to sound so desperate, so needy. He just—thinks it would be a good idea, is all.  _

_ Rogers frowns at him, but it’s without any hate, any anger. More like he’s… considering what Tony said. But eventually he says, “It’s not a bad idea. And we—we need to create a rapport among the team.” He looks at the rest of them, who range from shrugging disinterestedly to nodding along. _

_ Privately, Tony cheers.  _

_ Later, Tony exits the elevator into his penthouse. He’s cleaned himself up and covered any wounds so they don’t get suspicious. He was supposed to be halfway across the country with Pepper, but the jet turned around after the battle’s end, and touched down roughly an hour ago.  _

_ This is going to be his first meeting with Steve Rogers as, well, Tony Stark. Quite frankly, Tony would rather hole up in his lab than speak to him, but he has to keep up appearances and all. He doesn’t expect Rogers to take to him too much. He’s, well, he’s too self-righteous and moral. He would never like someone like Tony. Dad had made that clear every chance he got. _

_ God, had Tony hated him—still hates him. Don’t get him wrong about that. He hates this invisible man who was always a shadow when he was growing up, looming over him . But… he wasn’t awful when Tony was Iron Man. So maybe they do have a chance. _

_ “You must be Tony Stark,” Rogers says, cutting him out of his thoughts. His voice is… not necessarily harsh, but it’s not the soft, smooth tone he had with the others either. Tony figures SHIELD must have “briefed” Rogers on him already. _

_ Tony blinks, and clears his throat. “Oh, uh, yes!” He holds out his hand. “And you must be the capsicle. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Far too much. _

_ Rogers’ mouth flatterns at that, lips thinning. Probably didn’t like the Capsicle comment. Tony realizes too late, it was kind of shitty of him to poke fun at what was probably a traumatic memory. Steve takes Tony’s hand anyway. “Well, I’m glad to see that you’re safe and sound after what happened.” _

_ Tony smirks. “No need to worry about me, Cap, I’m untouchable.” He realizes his wrong choice of words when Rogers’ brow furrows, and he shoots an icy glare at Tony. He can’t seem to do anything but shove his foot in his mouth, can he? _

_ “Untouchable, huh? You sure are, I guess.” Tony opens his mouth to try and lessen the blow, because he really didn’t mean it that way, but Rogers won’t stop now that he’s gotten going. “Tell that to all the families and friends who lost their loved ones. I’m sure they would appreciate knowing that you were sitting back relaxing while people, good people, were in danger. Your bodyguard nearly died saving New York, and yet I don’t see you looking after him.” His are flinty, dangerous, as he says, “I wanted to give you a chance, but if that’s the kind of attitude you have only hours after a major tragedy, then maybe they were all right.” They. Everyone Rogers has talked to in the twenty-first century, most likely, because everyone thinks they know the true Tony Stark, whether or not they’ve actually met him.  _

_ Tony feels a stinging in his chest. The thing is, Rogers has a  _ point _ . He’s entirely right about the kind of man Tony Stark is, so he  _ shouldn’t  _ let it hurt when really, it’s all true, and the same shit Tony tells himself on a daily basis. But it does, anyway, and it’s Tony Stark who opens his mouth to retort, “Well, I guess we can’t all be heroes like you,” because an argument is what’s expected of him, not for him to turn belly-up and agree to the cutting words.  _

_ “No,” Rogers says softly, looking at him with something uncomfortably close to pity and sadness, “I guess we can’t.” Then he turns and stalks off. _

Tony startles when JARVIS speaks, cutting him out of his reverie. “Sir. There is a woman standing outside of the tower demanding to speak with you. Shall I alert security?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Tony waves a hand, pulling up the camera feed. He frowns, squinting and leaning closer when he gets a look at her face. “Huh. Let her know I’m coming.”

“Sir—”

“No arguments, JARVIS. She won’t hurt me.” Tony slips out of bed, keeping his balance as steady as possible. He’s barefoot and only dressed in pajamas as he sneaks out of the hospital wing, taking the elevator all the way down to the lobby. She’s standing outside, looking in through the locked doors.    
  
Tony unlocks them and steps outside with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her to speak. 

“I need your help,” Maya Hansen says.


	3. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of the chapters I have ready, so updates will probably take longer from here on out. Chapter 4 is partially done, and depending on how much time I can squeeze in with the test on Friday it should be up, at the latest, by the end of next week.
> 
> Warning: mention of non-con, nothing actually happens and it's someone who thinks they took advantage of someone else when in reality they didn't.

Truth be told, Steve has no idea what to think about Stark anymore.

This isn’t even about the strange, blue, glowing thing in his chest—an arc reactor, like the one Iron Man has—that Steve had discovered when helping Bruce treat him for the wound. JARVIS had warned them to leave it alone because it kept him alive, and Steve has been wondering what the hell it was doing in Stark’s chest, and for how long, ever since.

He gets that it’s keeping him alive, but the placement of the arc reactor in his chest and Iron Man’s is… strange in a way that Steve can’t seem to figure out. He’s sure he has all the pieces, or at least  _ enough  _ pieces, and yet he’s still missing the point anyway. 

Maybe Stark got inspiration for Iron Man from the arc reactor. Steve recalls hearing that Stark had been hit with a deadly amount of shrapnel in Afghanistan. 

Well, that’s not even what he’s vexed about right now, though he wishes he had gotten the chance to ask Stark about it.

Steve leaves the moment Stark tells him to, realizing he had fucked up yet again. He hadn’t meant it like that, he  _ really  _ hadn’t, but apparently Stark dislikes people assuming things about him. Makes sense, kind of. The public must do that all the time. They  _ do  _ do that all the time, actually. How many times was he told to avoid Stark by some random person who claimed to know the type of person he was, his personality, despite not having ever met him? 

He thinks, maybe he shouldn’t have listened. He had been determined to form his own opinion when he first met Stark, but he’s realizing that he already  _ had  _ an opinion of Stark before they even met. As subconscious as it was, he had been convinced that Stark was everything people said he was. No wonder he had found fault in every little thing Stark had said that day.

This is all Steve’s fault. If he had just taken the time to get to know Stark, because Steve is certain that Stark is not who he thinks he is, then maybe all of this could have been avoided.

He can’t exactly deny that Stark hasn’t made it easy though. It’s almost as though he  _ wanted  _ to be hated, but that’s bizarre. Why would anyone intentionally make others hate them? Maybe he had seen no point in trying to convince Steve to do anything besides hate him. That would make more sense than anything else.

And then there’s their—situation. Steve feels a ball of ice deep in his chest whenever he thinks about how he hurt Stark. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but he was most likely the reason Stark’s injury had gotten infected, because there was no way it couldn’t have reopened with the way Steve had been tossing him around. 

Unless—oh, god. 

Unless Stark hadn’t wanted it because he was injured, but he went along with it because Steve would have just overpowered him? What—what if that was what happened? What if Steve had unintentionally been forcing Stark into having sex with him? There were times where Steve didn’t realize his own strength, after all. He could have—been hurting Stark the entire time.

He feels sick at the thought. 

He has to stop this. Before he causes Stark any more pain.

A day after Stark kicked him out of his room, Steve attempts to visit him again. He still wants to know why exactly Stark lied to him, but something tells him he won’t get any answers if he brings that up again, so he’s just going to drop it for now. 

As he heads down to the medical wing, JARVIS interrupts him. “Are you going to see Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers?”

“Yeah,” Steve says carefully, wondering where this is going.

“I’m afraid he moved back to his penthouse rather than stay in the medical wing as recommended,” JARVIS says regretfully. 

Steve frowns. “Shouldn’t Banner be on that?”

“He left after Doctor Banner checked up on him this morning, and forbade me from telling him.” JARVIS’ voice gains a conspiratorial tone as he says, “However, he never said anything about telling anyone else.”

“Smart,” Steve comments as he punches in the button for Stark’s floor. He takes a deep breath, staring down at the smooth tiled floor of the elevator. “JARVIS, have I been wrong about Stark?”

“In what way?”   
  
Steve fidgets slightly, shifting his weight from side to side. “I assumed that he was just a… narcissistic alcoholic. You know, shallow. Careless. But there’s more to him, isn’t there? More than I know or realize.”   
  
There’s a pause, and then JARVIS says, slowly, “You are right in that Mr. Stark is a complicated man, much more than you and your team believe. He has been through a lot and it has led him to chase… a particular path. I cannot say more than that, but I suggest speaking to either Ms. Potts or Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes. Mr. Hogan would be another apt choice.”

Pepper Potts, James Rhodes, or Happy Hogan. If Steve’s going to be honest, Ms. Potts scares the shit out of him despite having only met her once or twice, so he’d probably have a better chance talking to Rhodey or Happy. She’s in Malibu, anyway, and Steve’s not up for calling her about this particular topic. He also knows for a fact that Rhodey is out of the country right now on a mission as War Machine, so Happy would probably be the best choice, since he’s technically the Avengers’ driver as well. 

The elevator comes to a stop, though the doors don’t open. “JARVIS?” Steve says in confusion.

“I was asking Mr. Stark if you could come in. There is a chance he won’t let you in.” There is another pause, and then the doors slide open. Steve steps in, taking a look around the hall. Last time he had been up here, he hadn’t taken the time to really study Stark’s penthouse—and the time before that, it had been destroyed by the battle. He can’t really say much about the hallway. It’s basic, dark. 

“In here,” a voice calls from around the corner. Steve heads down the hall, ignoring the entrance to Stark’s bedroom, and turns around the bend, revealing the living area. One wall is entirely made up of glass, showing off an impressive view of the city. In the middle is a lounge area with expensive leather couches. Despite all the show of wealth, it’s devoid of any personality. Anything that screams ‘home.’ 

Stark is leaning against the bar, clad in worn yet clean clothes. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled up. His face is still pale, ghostly, but he’s looking better than he has ever looked in the past week or so. His eyes are dark, unreadable. Steve wonders why he let him in so easily.

“What is it, Cap?” Stark’s tone is not necessarily accusing, unwelcoming, but Steve gets the hint he’s unhappy anyway.

“Why are you not in the hospital?” Is what he starts with.

Stark shrugs. “I’m fine now. Don’t need to be.”

“Did Banner say that?”   
  
“Why does it matter?” Stark snaps. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest. “I would have thought you’d be waiting for me to just keel over.”   
  
That stings. It shouldn’t, but it does. Is that what Stark thinks of him? Steve supposes he hasn’t really helped to clear that perception. “Don’t—don’t say that,” he says helplessly, “I wouldn’t want you to—don’t say that. Please.”

Stark blows out, looking aggravated. “Whatever. Don’t tell me you came all this way just to yell at me for not taking care of myself.”

“I—no,” Steve says. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “I wanted to talk about our—situation. We need to stop doing whatever this is.” He gestures between the two of them.

Stark frowns, but Steve can’t get a read on his expression. Whatever he’s thinking, Steve has no idea. “Why?”

“It’s just—” Steve doesn’t want to say it. “It’s not good, for either of us. I want to—to try and move past it. I don’t know if… we can ever truly get along—” Stark flinches at that, slightly. Odd. “—but I don’t want to be trapped in this—this self-destructive cycle.” As guilty as he feels, he’s too scared to ask if he ever forced Stark into anything, in the off chance that he confirms it. 

“Alright. Fine.” Stark is—upset, Steve thinks, though he has no idea why. “Is that all, Cap?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer, but he abruptly registers the sound of soft footsteps and whirls around, ready to fight whoever intruded. His jaw goes slack at the sight. 

There’s a woman standing in the entryway of the hall, one Steve has never seen before, with auburn hair and a strange scar under one eye. “Oh,” he says dumbly, though he really should have realized. She came from the hallway, where Stark’s room is. Of course—Stark is a playboy, after all, so she’s just another one of one-night stands. Something red and hot curls in the pit of his stomach at that thought, churning ferociously. 

There’s something strange about her, though. She’s not—she’s not the type of person Steve would have expected Stark to go for. She’s not…  _ plastic _ enough, and Steve hates to say that considering he knows very well the kind of person Stark goes for. But he doesn’t trust her. At all. He keeps his defensive edge, staring at her with hard eyes. The heat travels upwards, spreading until the flames are licking just under his skin, waiting for the chance to strike. 

There’s a sigh from behind him. “Cap, this is Maya Hansen. Maya, Cap. What do you want?” Stark directs to Maya.

“I heard someone talking to you,” Maya says, and her voice is rough. Hard. Not breathy and soft like so many of the socialites Steve has met in galas. “Just wanted to see who it was.”   
  
“Well, there you go.” Stark doesn’t sound happy. Of course not. His—girlfriend? One-night stand?—just walked in on him and Steve talking about their sexual encounters. “Now go away. This is private.”   
  
“No, it’s fine,” Steve says before she can leave, and he doesn’t sound like himself, all—bitter and angry, edged with fire. What’s wrong with him? “I was just leaving.” He pointedly looks away from Maya as he walks past her, making sure to keep her away from his line of sight lest he say something he regrets. 

“Cap—”

“Save it, Stark. I don’t care. We’re done, okay?” And then he heads down the hallway, into the elevator, pressing the button to the communal floor a little harder than necessary. Red tints his vision as he steps out, ready to beat a punching bag into submission.

Walking over to the gym is a blur. Steve can’t recall any moment of it, only coming back to himself while he’s wailing on a specially made punching bag. His face is hot, burning, as he lands a harsh jab on it. He’s not sure what’s making him so angry—he and Stark are the farthest thing from dating, from being in a relationship. He has all the right to fuck and date whoever he wants, and Steve is not the kind of person to judge what others get up to in their bedrooms—so why the hell does he care so much? He can’t deny the effect that Maya has had on him just by existing, and yet, it makes no sense. 

“What’d that punching bag do to you?” a voice says from behind him after what seems like forever. 

Steve punches it once more, then turns around and glares at Natasha, who hobbled in with her crutches. “What do you want?”

Her face is as impassive as ever. “For you to calm down, maybe. Your hands are bleeding.” 

Steve blinks and looks down at his hands, which are indeed bruised and bloody. He hadn’t even noticed them stinging, too caught up in his rage. The sight of them only serve to remind him of why exactly he had started hitting the punching bag with such fervor, and he feels the anger flare up deep inside of his stomach yet again. 

Natasha’s still standing there, waiting for an answer, and he considers her, thinking. Actually… “What was the name of that agent? The one you wanted me to set me up with.” Two can play at this game.

Natasha gives him an odd look. “What? You actually want to go out with her?”   
  
“I want to, to,” Steve runs his tongue over his teeth, “give it a try,” he says. “Just—you know, get out in the world. I guess. It’s about time.”  _ Liar _ .

“Well, her name is Rachel Leighton,” Natasha says. “Diamondback. You’ll like her. A bit of a wild card, but fun.” A smirk twists the corner of her lips. “You could use some of that.”

“Hey,” Steve says without any real heat, because she’s not who he’s angry at. He doesn’t—know  _ who  _ he’s angry at, just that he never wants to see Maya’s face ever again. 

“I’ll let her know you asked,” Natasha says, turning around and heading out of the room. “And maybe take a break before you cause any irreparable damage,” she throws over her shoulder. She doesn’t clarify whether she means the punching bag or him. 

Steve sighs and wipes at his sweaty face with a hand. He takes stock of the room, himself. He has no idea how long he spent beating out his frustrations, but judging by the hollowness of his stomach, it was a while. 

The heat under his skin had died over the course of his conversation with Natasha, but he can still feel remnants simmering inside of him, ready to blaze up at any given moment. 

The more pressing matter right now is the emptiness in his stomach, so he swipes a towel over himself quickly, cleaning off the sweat, before heading over to the kitchen.

For some odd reason, Steve can’t help but look forward to his date with, uh, what was it? Rachel? Yeah, her. It’s not… it’s not as though he’s particularly interested in her, considering he’s never met her, but the thought of going on a date makes him feel a sort of possessive victory, because he’s  _ not  _ hung up on Stark, of course he isn’t. Why would the thought of some man he hates fucking other people besides Steve bother him? Clearly, it doesn’t, because Steve has his own love life.

Steve glances in the mirror, making sure his hair is slicked back properly. He’s not used to these modern hairstyles yet, so it looks bizarre on him, but he doesn’t want to seem like he’s desperately clinging onto the past to Rachel. This is his chance to impress someone new, someone modern. Then he puts on a nice button-up shirt, deep blue, tucking them into his black slacks. He checks the time, making sure that he’s not late. Six-thirteen. The date is at seven-thirty, so he’s got time. A lot of time.

Maybe he can pick up flowers for Rachel, or something. Or would that be too forward? He decides it won’t hurt, and heads down to the communal floor to get a glass of water before leaving. Stark’s there rifling through the fridge, and Steve inwardly curses. He attempts to step lightly so that Stark doesn’t notice him, but he whirls around just as Steve passes the counter. 

Stark blinks, looking him over. A smirk grows on his face. “Well, Rogers, what do we have here?”

“I’m going on a date,” Steve says stiffly, and Stark’s leer drops for a second. “With a beautiful and kind woman. One who will… who will be good for me.” He’s making shit up—he’s never met Rachel before in his life, and he definitely doesn’t expect her to do anything for him. But he wants Stark to think that Steve doesn’t need him, doesn’t need to rely on him, because he  _ doesn’t _ . 

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” Stark says with that same frustrating smirk that Steve just wants to— _ kiss  _ off his face. No, wait, no he doesn’t. Not at all. 

Steve steps backwards, deciding not to bother with Stark for now. The glass of water forgotten, he leaves without saying a word, before he can do something he’ll regret.

Steve parks his motorbike in front of the restaurant Natasha apparently made the reservation at ten minutes before the date is supposed to start. He gives his name, and is taken to a table. Rachel doesn’t seem to have arrived yet, which is fair considering he’s early. Steve takes a look at the menu, wondering if Rachel’s a wine kind of person. Steve doesn’t really drink since it doesn’t have an effect on him, and he definitely doesn’t do it for the taste.

A few minutes later, a pink-haired woman sits down across from him. “I’m not late, am I?” she asks. Somehow, she looks both exactly and nothing like how Steve had imagined. He can’t stop staring at the short-cut, pink hair. It looks good on her. 

“You must be Rachel,” Steve says, and holds out a hand, which she takes with a big smile. “I’m Steve. And, no, you’re... right on time, actually.”

“Well, Steve, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Rachel says. “Did you order already?” She gestures at the menu in Steve’s hands.

“Oh, no, I was waiting for you. I chose already, though,” Steve says, handing it over to her. 

They make small talk as they wait for the waiter to arrive and take their orders. Steve feels a slight uneasiness in his stomach. He’s never actually been—on a date, not like this. Before, it was Bucky dragging along his dates’ friends just so Steve had a chance, and then there was Peggy, and then—nothing. And he’s not sure what to do.

He thinks about Iron Man, and all the time they’ve spent together and how much Steve enjoys that. They talk about anything and everything, from Steve’s favorite reality show (which are, admittedly, a guilty pleasure of his), to philosophical discussions on the idea of a society governed by virtue ethics. He can use pointers from those, maybe. Well, he’s definitely not going to bring up something like philosophy on the first date, but there are other things he can talk about.

“What do you…” He frowns, pursing his lips. “What do you think about reality shows?” he asks, and Rachel pauses before looking at him with a devilish smirk on her face.

As it turns out, they’re a guilty pleasure for her, too. The conversation becomes more natural after that, and most of Steve’s tension gradually melts away. As they talk, Steve realizes what a firecracker Rachel is. She’s witty, intelligent, and cocky. Just the kind of person Steve likes.

Soon, the waiter arrives with their steaming hot plates of food, and they dig in. 

“You know, I could tell how nervous you were before I even stepped in the restaurant,” Rachel remarks in between bites of her cassoulet, as casually as though she’s talking about the weather.

Steve sighs. “It really was that obvious? I’m not experienced in this kind of stuff.”

“Mm. I can imagine.” Rachel looks at him with a serious expression. “You know I’m not interested in a relationship, right? I’m not sure what Tasha’s told you about me, but dating is—yeah, not a thing for me right now. A nice roll in the sack, sure, but something tells me you’re not that kind of guy.”

Steve thinks about Stark, and how he can’t keep his hands off of him no matter what he does. “Yeah,” he agrees dully. “Tasha?”   
  
“We had a thing a, a while back. Nothing serious.” Rachel twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “We can be friends, though, right? You’re a pretty ‘swell’ guy,” she says with a slight smile. 

Inwardly, Steve sighs in relief. He  _ does  _ like Rachel, just—not like that. He wasn’t looking for a relationship either. “Sure,” he says, reaching out to shake her hand. “Friends.”

The “date,” if it can be called that by this point, ends on a high note, with the two of them exchanging contacts and making sure to stay in touch. As Steve heads back to the tower, he thinks about Rachel. He doesn’t regret going on the date, having made a new friend, but that doesn’t mean he’s still not sure why he bothered in the first place. What drove him to agree to going on a date anyway?

He’s self aware enough to know it has to do with Maya’s existence, the fact that Stark is dating her or she’s his one-night stand or whatever, but that doesn’t mean anything. Steve and Stark, technically, don’t even have a relationship. They have the opposite of one. Stark is not cheating on Steve in way, shape, or form.

But he still can’t help the bitter jealousy building up in his throat every time he thinks of Maya’s face.

The next day, Steve heads out to Central Park with Iron Man. He knows that people are gawking at them but the two of them ignore it, determined to have a good time together after being apart for so long.

“So, how was your date, playboy?” Iron Man asks teasingly, knocking his shoulder against Steve’s.

Steve rolls his eyes. “One date doesn’t make me a playboy.” He resolutely doesn’t think of Stark. Iron Man is the focus right now. “How did you find out anyway?”

“Mr. Stark told me,” Iron Man says, but before he can continue, a Muslim teenager comes up to them excitedly, asking if she can get a picture with them, which they obviously allow. Her eyes are practically shining afterwards as she asks them a bunch of questions about superheroing, and Steve smiles at the reminder of why he does what he does. 

“I’m disappointed in you, by the way,” Iron Man says as they watch Farah run off back to her family. 

Steve is taken aback. “What? Did I do something?”

“How dare you not tell me you were going on a date?” Iron Man says, turning to Steve. “Seriously, you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I had to find out from my boss who you hate?” 

Steve sags in relief at that. Iron Man was just joking. He really had thought— “I just ran into him right before I left. I swear, I was going to tell you. But it—it was nothing. We decided to just be friends, which is fine with me. I wasn’t looking for a relationship in the first place. I just did it.”

“Why?” Iron Man asks.

“Uh,” Steve starts, unsure of how exactly to explain that, because even  _ he’s  _ not certain what led him to do that in the first place, but he’s fortunately cut off by a small kid, about five or so, running up to the two of them. He tugs on Iron Man’s leg as though he’s wearing pants, and Steve smiles at the sight.

“Well, what do we have here?” Even with the robotic voice, Steve can hear the light playfulness of his tone. Iron Man kneels down, looking the kid straight in the eye. 

The kid smiles shyly, hunching his shoulders as he twists his body from side to side slightly, hands clasped tightly together. “I—Iron Man, can you pretty, pretty please play with us?”

There’s a whole group of children plus some adults—a birthday party, maybe?—looking on. Iron Man stands back up. “Of course, little hero! I would love to play with you.” 

The kid squeals with excitement and doesn’t hesitate to grab Iron Man’s hand, pulling him over the group. Steve follows behind. Most likely, the kids don’t recognize him out of costume, which is fine with him. He just loves seeing when Iron Man gets the appreciation he deserves. 

Steve watches with a bright smile as Iron Man laughs, playing with the kids. Apparently, he’s the villain while the others have to defeat him, and he puts up a bit of a fight by avoiding them, but eventually they manage to all pile on him and he collapses into the grass. “Oh, no!” Iron Man cries dramatically, reaching up a hand. “You’ve defeated me!”

Steve feels fizzy pops of warmth and color and love in his chest, like the bubbles in an ice cold soda. For a moment, he imagines what Iron Man would look like without the mask while he did the same exact thing, but with a precious little girl that had the most beautiful brown eyes—the same as her father. Steve would look on happily, watching as the two people he loved most in the world—

What the hell is he thinking? Where did that come from?

That is nowhere near the realm of possibility for Steve, and he doesn’t even know why—he’s considered starting a family before, but that was with Peggy, and those dreams froze to death in the ice. Since then, he hasn’t even thought about the topic, because it’s too much to bear.

What led him to think he could ever have that with Iron Man? Iron Man is a friend, not— _ that _ . He’s not a boyfriend. And he certainly has no romantic interest in Steve. If he does, he’s hidden it very well. 

Steve needs time to think about all this. One moment, he’s getting angry about Stark’s one-night stand, and the next he’s daydreaming about his and Iron Man’s daughter. 

“What’s up?” Iron Man says later, once the kids have left, thanking Iron Man a hundred times before they did so. “You look upset. And you’ve been quiet since I played with the kids. Jealous that I paid them so much attention?”

“I was just—lost in thought.”   
  
Iron Man pokes Steve on the shoulder. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately. Something rattling around in that geriatric brain of yours?”

“Shut up,” Steve says, though he can’t help the smile. “I guess I just have a lot going on.”

“Not bad, hopefully?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know. Could be bad, could be good. I have to figure that out.”   
  
“What is it?” Iron Man asks. “If you need to talk it over with someone—”

“Not this time, buddy. I need to manage this on my own. Thanks, though.” Steve tries to make his tone as light as possible to counteract the words. He hopes Iron Man won’t take offense to Steve rejecting his help. It’s a legitimate reason, isn’t it?

Iron Man pulls back and nods. With the mask over his face, Steve can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Okay. That’s fine, Winghead. But I’m always here for you if you ever do need it.”

Steve feels the tightness in his chest loosen up for a moment. Iron Man’s not angry with him. At least one thing in his life is going right, unlike everything else which is a flaming mess. Well, as long as he avoids daydreams of starting a family with Iron Man. “Of course.”

They head back to the tower after that, parting ways on the communal floor. Steve watches Iron Man walk off, considering. Then he sighs and leaves to his own room. He has a lot to think about.

_ They’re having another fight. Steve’s angry at Stark, though looking back he can’t even remember what the reason was. Stark probably mouthed off in the debrief, or something.  _

_ It’s just another row, but there’s something different about this one. There’s—something electric in the air, something more than just charged tension. Steve can feel the change as he shouts in Stark’s face, and it only heightens when Stark finally drops the careless attitude and snaps back.  _

_ Steve feels a rush of victory at that in all the wrong ways. It’s very rare that he can goad Stark into breaking his carefree, flippant mask enough for him to shout back.  _

_ “Why can’t you just learn when not to run your mouth?” _

_ Stark smirks at that. “Trust me, Cap, there’s a lot more that I can do with my mouth than just run it.” Just to make even more clear what exactly he was referring to, his gaze flickers down to Steve’s crotch. _ __   
_   
_ __ Steve sees red. 

_ The next thing he knows, he has Stark slammed against the floor and his tongue is halfway down his throat and their hips are pressed together. Steve could stop— _ should  _ stop, really, but it feels so good. He’s sloppy in his anger, like he’s drunk on the searing red coursing through him.  _

_ And when Steve forces Stark down on his knees for the first time, determined to see just  _ how  _ good Stark can be at not running his mouth, he doesn’t think about how he’s making a mistake. _

They first hear about it on the news. 

Both Stark and Iron Man are nowhere to be seen. The rest of the team is gathered in the common room watching the TV with mounting shock. “It’s awful,” Clint says, as the camera pans over the ruins. “We should have been there.”

Apparently, a random, nondescript building had been blown up. By whom, they’re not sure. There are no traces of a bomb anywhere, or even of anyone shady hanging around in the area according to witnesses. 

There were about six casualties and even more civilians who were severely injured, including Happy Hogan. Stark’s driver. Last they heard, he was clinging onto life. Steve hopes with all his heart that he’ll survive. Happy is a good man. He doesn’t deserve to die like this.

As the team starts conversing, speculating on who could have done this, Steve finds himself lost in thought. 

He wonders where Iron Man is, if he’s dealing with Stark. To Steve’s guilt, he’s wondering more how Stark reacted to all of this. Before everything, he probably would have assumed Stark wouldn’t give a shit and just hire another driver. But now, he thinks there’s a chance Stark would be torn up about it.

Strange how perceptions can change so easily, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rachel Leighton canonically dated Steve at one point, so I figured I would bring in a character that may not be as well known. Her relationship with Steve here is strictly platonic, though, and always will be.


	4. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to [Lacrimula Falsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrimula_Falsa/profile) and [riseupwiseupeyesup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseupwiseupeyesup/pseuds/riseupwiseupeyesup) for helping me with this chapter!

There is only one other point in time Tony has felt such blinding, scarlet-tinted rage. 

It was right after Yinsen died. Red had swirled around him like flames of wrath, choking him in its intensity. In that moment, he had felt so raw and exposed that he didn’t care if the entire world burnt down. It had been terrifying, to feel the sheer intensity of emotions. 

At the time, all he cared about was getting revenge on the people that had murdered Yinsen in cold blood, to destroy everything he had worked for, to raze everything to the ground and watch the ashes blow in the wind. He hadn’t regretted his choice at all seeing the charred remains left behind, the only reminder of the legacy he had created. He still doesn’t.

And that blazing, carmine anger is what Tony feels now, seeing what has been done to Happy.

His vision is red as he stares down at the broken and burnt body of his friend. He barely recalls what he says or does to the nurse who comes in. All he knows is that he is absolutely going to eviscerate Aldrich Killian. 

He has no doubt that it was Killian who was behind this. Maya revealed back when she first showed just who had been sending him threats this entire time. He should have taken them seriously, should have done something about it before they escalated until this point. He hadn’t because they had just been targeted to either him or Iron Man, but now that Happy and gotten involved—this is no longer just a game.

_ No one  _ hurts the people Tony cares about. 

Tony turns and heads out of the hospital room, closing the door gently behind him. He stalks down the corridor, planning on going back to the tower, slip into his armor, go after Killian, and beat him in some good old-fashioned revenge. 

In the lobby, he runs into Maya. Tony sighs inwardly, already knowing she’s going to try and talk him out of it.

“Stick to the plan, Tony,” she says firmly. 

_ Stick to the plan, Yinsen!  _

“Yeah, I’d rather not,” Tony says, pushing past her. “I’m Tony Stark. Unpredictable is my middle name.”

Maya follows him, much to his chagrin. “So, you kill him, and then what? Will that fix what happened?” The red wavers for a second, before coming back with a vengeance. 

Tony whirls on her. “You’re only helping me because you want revenge on Killian for stealing your work, not because of all the atrocities he’s committed on people. Stop acting like you have the moral high ground.” Without waiting for a response, he pushes the door open, leaving the hospital. Immediately, they’re swarmed by reporters shouting in his face. The flashing cameras are blinding in their intensity. 

“Mr. Stark!”

“Mr. Stark! What do you have to say about this attack on your driver?” one particularly brave journalist asks.

The dying flame rises up with a vengeance, incandescent in its intensity. Tony is about to grab the man’s phone and tell him just what he thinks about the attack, but Maya quickly grabs his arm and pushes him to the car, forcing themselves through the throng of people. Before Tony can even react, she urges him into the passenger’s seat and quickly starts up the car, reversing out of its parked position and forcing the clamoring journalists aside.

“Don’t focus on them,” Maya says as they drive into the street. “We have a plan, Tony. Don’t compromise it right now.” 

Tony slams his fist down on the dashboard, uncaring of the way it sends a sharp pain shooting up to his wrist. “I don’t care about the plan!” he snarls. “Did you see what they did to my friend?”

Maya purses her lips. “I did. I was there, Tony, and I’m sorry.”

Tony scoffs. “I’m sure. You definitely care about the people who were killed or hurt by this. Oh, wait, you don’t.”

Maya sighs. “Okay, I’m going to let everything you say slide for now because you’re in pain, but that’s not true.” She pauses for a moment, then continues. “It’s clear that he’s going to go after the rest of your friends, so try and get them into hiding. Iron Man, too.”

“Iron Man’ll be fine. They’re no match for him.” Definitely not, Tony thinks, imagining the fire that had poured out of him all those years ago in Afghanistan, and how nothing was left in his tracks.

Maya glances at him sideways. She’s clearly doubting that, but doesn’t say anything. “We can talk about the rest later, when you’ve calmed down.”   
  
“Calmed down,” Tony repeats to himself, “Like I’m being hysterical right now.”   
  
“Not hysterical,” Maya says carefully, “just—distressed.”   
  
“I’ve seen the way you look at me. You think I’m too emotional and high-strung to do this.”

“No, I don’t,” Maya says with a forced calm. Her voice is smooth, almost like the therapists on TV.

“Stop lying to me!” Tony hits the door, and the dull pain in his hand rises up to a throbbing ache. “I know you regret asking me for help. It’s obvious. You think I’m incapable, that I’m too—too soft, too weak to manage what you’re asking of me. That I’m just a fucking lush—well, so what if I am? I’m capable of so much more than what you realize! You have  _ no  _ idea what I can do, what I’ve done.” His voice is high, shrill. Tony thinks, maybe he’s having a breakdown. His breaths are coming in short gasps, and he feels tears stinging at his eyes. 

Maya finally turns her head to look at him for a moment. “Tony, calm down, seriously. I still need you.”

“No,” Tony says, and he definitely can’t breathe now, his chest tight and heart pounding. His arms are going numb. “What—what’s happening? I can’t breathe, I’m—I’m dying. Go back to the—hospital!”

Maya frowns, pulling over and parking the car. “Tony, what’s wrong?”   
  
Tony breathes in as rapidly as he can to calm himself down, but try as he might, the panic is only growing, crawling over him and taking control. Maya reaches over and checks his pulse. She pauses and looks up at him. “I think you’re having a panic attack. Listen to my voice, okay? You’re not dying. Just take in deep breaths.” She places a hand on his chest and breathes in exaggeratedly, letting it out with a  _ whoosh _ . 

Tony stares at her with watery eyes, but he tries to copy the pattern she’s showing him, and eventually he can feel his heart start slow and feeling trickle back into his arms. The rope around his chest loosens, letting him take deeper breaths than before. “I—” he starts shakily. Heat creeps up the back of his neck, staining his cheeks a deep red. He’s never been so vulnerable in front of anyone besides Rhodey before, and certainly not a woman he’s only really known for a few days. “I—thanks for that. I… don’t know what happened there.” He hasn’t had a panic attack in a while. 

Maya is gazing at him with an unreadable look in her eyes. Tony hadn’t been making all that stuff he’d said up—it had been exacerbated by his panic, sure, but he really hasn’t missed all her sighs and doubtful looks whenever Tony says or does something. Right now, he gets the feeling that she thinks he’s too unstable to go through with this. 

“It’s fine,” Maya says eventually. “These things happen.” She switches the gear back into drive and heads out onto the street again. The rest of the drive passes in silence.

By the time they reach the tower, Tony has calmed down enough to be glad that he didn’t immediately go after Killian and sabotage the plan. Who knows what would have happened if Tony didn’t stick to it? Oh, he’s definitely going to go and kill him, he’s not regretting his anger at Killian one bit, but he’s saving the moment for when they follow the plan through. 

They’re going to have to hurry it up, though. Maybe Tony can have Pepper change the gala to an earlier date. Yeah. That would probably be best. Before Killian decides to do anything else. 

Maya keeps giving him glances. She probably thinks he hasn’t noticed, but he has. He knows what she thinks of him. Spineless, dumb, too distracted chasing the next pair of tits to pay attention to anything important. 

Doesn’t explain why she came to him, though. He knows it’s partially because he’s directly been caught up in this whole mess, but she could have gone to the Avengers, or Iron Man, or, hell, even Pepper. Not to mention his reputation. It’s not as though he’s known for taking things seriously. 

Tony heads straight to his lab, Maya following. He doesn’t want her to, but he realizes they need to discuss the plan.

“I’m going to push the gala to the eighth,” Tony announces once they’re in the lab and away from prying ears.

Maya frowns at him. “That’s in three days. You think people will accept that?”

“For the sake of status and showing off, they’ll accept anything.”

Maya still looks doubtful, but she clearly realizes that Tony would probably know more about the elite world than her. “Everything else is the same, though? You let yourself get kidnapped by them and Iron Man comes in and saves you?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, then takes a deep breath, because now is the time. “Except Iron Man’s not coming in to save me. You are.”   
  
She stares at him. It’s the first time Tony has seen her ever surprised about something. “What?”

Tony shrugs, runs his tongue over his lips. He can’t believe he’s telling Maya, but he knows that she won’t reveal the information to anyone. She’s too practical to care about something like that. “There’s no person in the armor besides me, so you’re going to have to control it when I’m gone.”

Her only reaction is to nod rather than make a big deal about the revelation, which only serves to heighten her standing in Tony’s books. “You trust me with the armor?” She doesn’t mention everything Tony said to her earlier, but it’s obvious that’s what she’s thinking of. That she thinks Tony hates her, would let her fall and burn at the slightest opportunity. Tony admits, he hasn’t done much in that regard. But her helping him through that panic attack—she could have ridiculed him, scoffed at his display of emotion, but she  _ didn’t _ . She helped him calm down, didn’t mock him afterwards, either. Just said “it happens” and moved on.

They’ve just been working together for the past week because it’s convenient, not because they care about each other. They have different goals, too. Maya wants revenge on Killian for stealing her life’s work, her ideas, and taking credit. Tony just wants to stop Killian from hurting innocent people. 

But she’s a good person. Tony realizes that now. He trusts her to do the right thing. 

“You’re a practical person,” Tony says eventually, “you wouldn’t let something as silly as emotions get in the way of what needs to be done.”  _ Not like me _ , goes unsaid. “So yes, I trust you with the armor.” 

She nods slowly, digesting that. Then quietly, she says, “I trust you, too, you know. I don’t think you’re an idiot. Definitely not if you’ve been—doing all this,” she sweeps with her arm, gesturing to the room, “this entire time. I’m sorry that I—thought you were too emotional, because I’m the exact opposite. You were right. I  _ was _ —doubting you. I didn’t realize—”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony says softly. “It’s not your fault.  _ I’m  _ sorry for what I said to you in the hospital and car.”   
  
She shrugs. “You were upset. I get it. It happens. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad I came to you for this.”   
  
“Me, too.” They smile at each other for a moment before Tony turns away. “I need to—work on something,” he says dismissively. It’s not meant to be rude, and he’s sure Maya gets that. It was just—a little bit too much vulnerability for Tony to be entirely comfortable at the moment. 

Tony thinks of the wound that has mostly healed up by now, and lays a hand over where it is. He’s been letting his masks down far too much in the past few weeks. It’s all going to blow up in his face somehow. He can feel the tension tightening, a rope that is eventually going to snap under the pressure. 

He just wonders how much it can take until then.

_ That was a warning. _

Tony gets the message a few hours later. 

It’s on plain copy paper, printed in Times New Roman, twelve point font. They deserve an A for details, he supposes. 

Maya already told him that the mail carrier was working for AIM, which was how all the threats had managed to slip through security. Tony had left him alone because it would seem suspicious otherwise, but now he’s really regretting that decision. 

He had caught sight of the slight smirk on the man’s face as he left, but Tony had paid it no mind until he saw the letter and the bottom dropped out from his stomach. His heart is beating rapidly, he realizes, chest tight. A warmth is spreading from the center, right behind the arc reactor, to the rest of him. 

“Sir, one of the Extremis enhanciles you had me track has been seen a few blocks away from the tower,” JARVIS announces while Tony’s still staring at the letter. The voice is oddly distant, muffled by the sound of blood rushing through him.

The letter flutters to the ground as crimson blooms in Tony’s vision. 

He doesn’t register the next few minutes—assembling the suit around him and jetting off through the lab’s opening—only coming back to himself once he reaches the man in question simply walking through the streets. Tony doesn’t hesitate before he lands a heavy punch on the man’s face, shattering his jaw. 

The man is thrown to the ground, but he quickly gets back up. His jaw has already healed. His skin starts to glow a fiery orange, and people around them scream in confusion and panic. “That was a bit unnecessary,” he says to Tony.

Tony shoots him with a repulsor, not bothering to respond. The man gets up without a single scratch on him. Undeterred, Tony throws another punch straight at the man’s face.

“What the hell did I do?” the enhancile asks in mock confusion. 

Tony doesn’t respond, too fired up to care about what he’s saying. The red in his vision is blinding, swallowing up everything around him until the only thing he can focus on is the enhancile. His heart is pounding, blood rushing through his ears, drowning out any sounds. He shoots another blast of energy at the man, throwing him to the ground. 

Tony stalks closer while the man pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Don’t act stupid. You know what you’ve done,” he says coldly, at odds with the red of the inferno surrounding him.

The man stands up and smiles at him crookedly. Around them, people are taking photos and videos, but Tony doesn’t give a shit. “Well, I was going to wait until the boss decided what to do about you, but this works out.” With inhuman speed, he shoots forward and grabs Tony’s arm, twisting it hard and shattering the repulsor.

Tony wrenches his hand out of the man’s grip, and attempts to shoot with his other one, only for the man to start glowing a hot orange again and take hold of his hand, melting and crushing the metal. Tony releases a flare, which blinds the man for a short moment, and allows for Tony to pull his hand away.

The moment doesn’t last nearly long enough, and the man punches the armor’s chestplate. Tony feels the reverberations course through him, the arc reactor slide slightly backwards and into his lungs. Tony sees white and doubles over, coughing and trying to force himself to breathe over the fuzziness in his head, the blackness spreading through his vision. JARVIS is saying something to him, but Tony pays no attention to that.

Without warning, a rush of flames hits him in the face. Even with the faceplate, Tony can’t help but flinch immediately, recoiling from the wave of heat. “Sir, the armor is rapidly approaching sixty-five degrees Celsius,” JARVIS warns, like Tony doesn’t realize he’s on fire at the moment.

The armor is getting uncomfortably hot, the metal sizzling and deforming under the fire. Sweat starts to bead at Tony’s forehead as he attempts to push himself up before the armor gets too hot, but his chest is aching and his lungs are burning. Already, the metal is starting to sear his skin, and he collapses to the ground, which fortunately cuts the barrage of fire short as well.

Tony has no idea what the armor looks like from the outside, if it’s melted and ruined. His burns are stinging, and if Tony were more out of it he would have left the armor by now just to escape the heat, but he can’t do that, can he, that would be an idiotic move.

The man flips him onto his back and kneels over him, landing a heated punch to his faceplate and knocking Tony’s head back. He does it again, and again, and again—Tony too dazed to fight back—until the helmet nearly breaks off. Pieces are already littering the ground, and parts of his face are exposed to the world. Realization strikes Tony at that moment and he turns on his jets, shooting out from under the enhancile. Tony flips over, landing on his feet. 

His chest is on fire, only the armor holding him in place right now. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if he has a cracked rib or two. That had been the strongest he’s ever been punched. 

The man approaches as Tony stares him down. “Bet you’re regretting going after me right now. The boss’ll be happy, for sure, but you won’t. Your boss won’t. Was he the one that sent you here? Because his precious driver got hurt? He’s an idiot then, sending you alone after what’s happened.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tony says, and blasts him in the face. 

The man doesn’t even flinch, steadily walking over. 

Tony only has time to think,  _ Oh, fuck _ , and,  _ I’m going to kill him _ , before the man grabs him and lifts him up into the air, slamming him into the ground. Tony grunts, and without warning he’s lifted up again and tossed like a ragdoll into a car. 

People around him might be screaming, but he’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything other than the fact that he failed to avenge Happy.

What good is he if he can’t even be a proper Avenger?

“Sir, I have called the Avengers and they will be here in approximately two minutes.” JARVIS’ voice is as panicked as it can get, and Tony thinks that should alarm him, but his mind is sluggish and woozy. He struggles to push himself up, grabbing onto the crushed car hood for leverage. 

“You really shouldn’t have messed with me,” the man says to him over the ringing in Tony’s ears. Patches of fire emanate from beneath his skin, and all Tony can think is,  _ I’m so sorry, Steve _ . 

He stares at the enhancile as he comes closer, refusing to back down. Time seems to slow down as Tony looks his impending death in the face, because he’s going to die right here, and Steve will cry until he sees Tony’s broken and bleeding face under the armor, which is when he’ll turn away in betrayal, and—

The shield flies out from nowhere and slams straight into the enhancile’s face. Tony whips his head around to look at where it came from, and— “Steve.” The word comes out unbidden, a mere whisper on the top of his tongue, like the lightest feather drifting in the breeze. He’s never been more grateful to see his face.

Steve immediately runs over and picks up his shield, which didn’t bounce back for once. While the rest of the Avengers head straight to the man, Steve rushes towards Tony, slinging an arm around his shoulder and holding him up. “What the hell were you thinking?” Steve demands. Tony can hear the barely-contained anger in his voice, and suppresses a shiver. He’s never had Steve mad at him when he’s Iron Man before. “What the  _ actual fuck  _ made you decide it was a good idea to go off on your own and attack this guy? You can’t just go after random people who aren’t doing anything!”

Tony coughs. Luckily, his mouth isn’t visible, or that would be a dead giveaway. “He—he was behind what happened to Happy.”

Steve pauses as he helps Tony to the side. Some civilians are standing there, and Steve urges them to run off. When he responds to Tony, his voice is softer. “You should have gone to us, then, instead of running after some guy who wasn’t even doing anything. You know how that’s going to look to the public.”

Tony’s made a lot of mistakes, but never as Iron Man. He decides he doesn’t like it. Iron Man is supposed to be better than him. If Iron Man gets scolded by Steve as well, then how is he any different from Tony Stark?

Steve’s staring at him, he realizes. Gently, he brushes a hand over Tony’s exposed cheek, the first skin-to-skin contact he’s ever had with Iron Man (or so Steve thinks, and Tony hates himself). 

“I’m sorry,” Tony says softly, before the moment becomes too much for him to bear. He coughs again, a sharp jolt reverberating through his chest. He definitely broke something.

Steve sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind that. Where are you injured?” he asks in concern. His hands pass over Tony’s body, searching for any dents in the armor.

“My chest. He punched it—really hard.”

“Are you bleeding internally?” Steve asks, alarmed.

Tony shakes his head. If he was, JARVIS would have said something. He needs to get the injuries set soon, though. 

“Here.” Steve ushers him into the quinjet, helping him down into a seat. “Are there any small wounds or cuts that I can take care of?”

Tony thinks of the last time Steve helped him with an injury, and mutely shakes his head again. “I can—I can do it.”

“I swear, you don’t have to take off your helmet, or anything, just let me help.”   
  
“No,” Tony insists. “I’ll do it myself.”   
  
Steve stares at him imploringly, with those baby blues that always steal Tony’s breath away, before sighing and glancing down. “Fine. But you need to set your injuries now. If you can do it yourself—” he heads over to the door and locks it, “—then do it. I swear I won’t look.”

Tony looks at him. He trusts Steve, he really does, but there’s always that fear that he’ll just—turn around and see Tony Stark sitting there. “Can I just—” he pushes himself up, grunting with the effort, and grabs a clean cloth, “use this?”

Steve doesn’t seem to understand what he means, but he nods anyway. Carefully, Tony comes closer, holding it right above his eyes. Steve clearly gets the hint then, because his mouth forms a perfect ‘o’ and he closes his eyes. With as much dexterity as he can manage, he ties the cloth around Steve’s head. 

Then, slowly, he goes to the small medical area they have set up, and removes his helmet, followed by the rest of his armor. Tony knows he would most likely collapse the moment he lost his main source of stability, and so he seats himself on the cot. Without the armor there to hold everything in place, the pain becomes almost overwhelming. Each breath sends a spike of agony throughout his body, like a jolt of lightning. 

He already had JARVIS scan him for just what happened to his chest, and it turns out that one of his ribs was fractured. It’s not bad enough that he needs any treatment beyond being incredibly careful with his movements, since wrapping it is a bad idea. Instead, Tony treats his more superficial injuries. 

As he’s finishing up the last cut, Steve says, “You done yet?”

Tony doesn’t respond. There’s no way he can. Steve would recognize him in an instant, no matter how much Tony alters his voice. 

Steve seems to get it. “Oh, you don’t want to speak either. That’s fine. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

What did Tony do to deserve him?

Once he’s done, he gingerly stands up and assembles the armor around him. As he’s putting on the helmet, though, he hesitates. He moves so that he’s in front of Steve, only a few inches of distance between them. This close, Tony can feel Steve’s breathing on his face. 

“Iron Man?” Steve asks.

Tony smiles brokenly. His eyes are watering, but he refuses to let the tears fall. He puts a hand on Steve’s cheek and leans closer, trying to get him to understand. Steve inhales sharply, and then nods, once, and Tony closes the gap between them. 

The kiss is light, chaste, a simple brush of their lips. Tony wants something as far removed as what they have normally. His breath hitches, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Iron Man…” Steve whispers as Tony pulls away. “I—”

“Shh.” Tony presses a finger on his lips, and Steve quiets.

It’s silent as Tony turns away and pulls on the helmet, and it’s silent as Tony finally removes the cloth covering Steve’s eyes.

He blinks a few times to get readjusted to the light, and then focuses his gaze on Tony. “What was that?”

“I—I’m sorry. I just—” Tony holds back a sob. He’s not going to cry. He’s  _ not _ . “I really needed it.”   
  
“No, it’s fine, I—I liked it,” Steve admits. “I didn’t think that you were—into me.”   
  
“I—” Tony can’t exactly dispute that at this point, nor does he want to. “I am. Have been for a while. I just—can’t have you.”   
  
“You can, though!” Steve says quickly, and Tony shoots his head up. Steve’s gaze is earnest, innocent. “I like you, too, Iron Man, have for a while.” He bites his pink lip, considering. “And I know that I would like the man under the armor as well.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Tony says immediately. “You wouldn’t. You don’t know me at all, really, and that’s why—that’s why this,” he gestures between the two of them, “would never work out.” Without waiting for Steve’s answer, he leaves the quinjet and flies off, damaged armor and all. He ignores Steve’s cries for him, resolutely flying away from his heart.

After that whole mess, Tony locks himself in his lab, refusing to speak even to Maya. His rib isn’t bad. He’s dealt with worse injuries on his own before. 

He just wants to ignore everything that happened and go back to normal—being hated, and fucking Steve. He forgot for a moment that he’ll never have anything more than that, and actually gave himself hope, only to come crashing down like Icarus. God, what had he been thinking when he kissed Steve? Now he could never face him as Iron Man, because Steve was just going to bring it up, and each time he did Tony’s heart would break a little more and more.

He ignores the tingling on his lips every time he thinks of Steve. He’s probably just allergic to something. It’s nothing else. Can’t be. 

All that aside, he doesn’t necessarily regret going after the man—he’d deserved it, after all. He was one of Killian’s main lackeys, according to Maya. He was definitely involved in the attack.

But Steve had had a point about how it would appear to the public. They could probably spin it as Tony coming in to stop the man from doing something bad because they had been tipped off, or something, but it’s just more work. 

“Sir, the team is demanding to speak to you.”

Tony blinks, brought out of his thoughts. “Tell them I’m busy.” He gestures at the empty worktable he’s currently sitting at, staring off into space.

“It’s urgent, Sir. About Iron Man.”

If it’s the entire team, then it’s probably about what Tony did. What he did to the enhancile, not anything else. He’s safe for now.

Tony throws his head back and sighs. “Ughh, fine. Tell them I’ll be up in ten minutes.” He just has to clean up his face until then. Can’t have them seeing new cuts and bruises on his face only an hour after Iron Man was in a fight. 

He quickly swipes on some concealer, making sure the makeup is seamless enough that the Black Widow won’t pick up on it, before heading upstairs. The makeup stings where he put them over his burns, but he resolutely ignores the sensation. The team is gathered in the common room with full gear on, sans Iron Man (obviously). 

“Where’s Iron Man?” Natasha asks. “This involves him.”

Tony waves a hand carelessly. “I sent him home. He was hurt pretty badly.”

Steve’s eyes are a glimmering, shifting blue. “Is he okay? We saw the footage. The man he was attacking got him pretty good.”   
  
“He’s… been better,” Tony says carefully, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “but he doesn’t need immediate attention. Just some time to rest up.”   
  
“I’m assuming you know what’s happened then, right?” Natasha asks, getting straight to business.

“Yup,” Tony says, popping the ‘p.’ “Unfortunately, I do. And before you say anything, I had no involvement in it. He went off by himself. He and Happy are close.”

“But he seemed to know  _ who  _ hurt Happy in the first place.” Natasha fixes him with a heavy, dark gaze, clearly trying to read him. “There’s something going on. That man was clearly enhanced like Steve, and you and Iron Man seem to know something about it.”

Tony sees no way out of this, so he sighs and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. Maybe it’s time to come clean. It’s not as though their nonexistent relationship will be wrecked by the fact that Tony’s been keeping secrets. “Yeah, okay. I’ve been… getting threats. It’s been going on for a while. A few months, at least. They started up after I refused to work with this guy called Killian, because the ideas he had were just—crazy, and dangerous. They started out normal, just threatening me, but then spread to threatening Iron Man, and I guess—they finally followed through with them. Iron Man knows about the threats, by the way. We’ve been working together to stop AIM.”   
  
“AIM?” Clint echoes.   
  
“Killian’s company. He’s the one behind all this. He’s been… experimenting on people with this virus called Extremis, which works to varying degrees. I don’t know if you saw Maya around.” Steve inhales sharply at that, eyebrows raised. Strange. “She’s been helping me with all that because she used to work for Killian.”

Bruce frowns. “Why did you never tell us this?”

“Why would I? Iron Man and I are handling it.  _ Were  _ handling it,” Tony corrects, thinking of Happy. A sharp, icy jolt of guilt strikes through his chest, freezing him from the inside out. “Not anymore, really.”   
  
Clint scoffs, a bitter, caustic thing. “Yeah. Clearly. Maybe if you had told us, Happy wouldn’t have—”   
  
“Think very hard before you finish that sentence,” Tony says dangerously, softly. His voice promises a world of pain, and Clint clearly realizes that, because his mouth clicks shut.

“But why didn’t the Man of Iron tell us either?” Thor asks, looking confused.

Tony opens his mouth, before pausing. “I asked him not to,” he says eventually. “Like I said, I thought we could handle this on our own. We had a plan to stop Killian and everything. And he didn’t—he didn’t outright threaten Happy, just Iron Man and me. So we didn’t think—” Tony cuts himself off, not wanting to say it. He feels nauseous, weak. He can’t even admit what they did to Happy without wanting to immediately throw up.

Steve is frowning at him. Tony can’t get an idea of what he’s thinking, whether he’s disappointed in Iron Man or thinking of how to deal with this mess. “Next time something like this happens, you come straight to the Avengers,” Steve says eventually. “How can you not take threats seriously? You’re Tony Stark, billionaire playboy. By this point in life you should have learned not to be so careless with it.”

Tony shrugs. “I get a hundred threats a day, and only a tiny, almost miniscule percentage of them actually come true.”

“Well, I don’t care. You should take your life more seriously,” Steve says, and Tony gets the idea that he’s not just talking about the threats. “And that Iron Man went along with keeping it a secret—I’m going to have to talk with him as well.”

Tony gets the sudden, striking fear that maybe, this is the last straw. That maybe Iron Man’s made one too many mistakes in a row and Steve no longer wants to be associated with him, for him to be on the Avengers. Tony doesn’t know what he’ll do if he’s kicked off the team. He can’t handle being hated as both Tony Stark and Iron Man.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks instead.

“The man Iron Man attacked is in custody,” Natasha explains. “We’re going to say that we knew the man was planning out some sort of terrorist attack, and that’s why we acted to stop him. The fact that he immediately fought back and clearly had some sort of powers speaks in our favor.”

Steve steps in, on the same wavelength as Natasha. “Then we’re going to work on locating this threat, and stopping them. You said they’re experimenting on people, right?” 

Tony nods, and Steve continues. “They’re not just a threat to you. They’re clearly a threat to the public. This is an Avengers-level threat now. You said you had a plan?”

Tony hesitates. He doesn’t want to tell them his plan with Maya, in the case that they fuck it up. He hadn’t even  _ wanted _ to involve the Avengers, but he had no choice but to tell the truth. Tony thinks it might be a bit of a problem that he can’t even bring himself to trust his own team. “I—kind of,” he says. “It’s just the bare bones, and won’t work with all of you.”   
  
If he admits he’s using himself as bait, then there’s no way they’ll accept that. They won’t let him do that, and they might just stop thinking he’s so damn selfish, and that’s the last thing Tony wants.

Maybe he can work with them to do it another way. He had been planning on infiltrating the headquarters because there was just one of him, and he’d be able to do more damage by finding out their information instead of just razing everything to the ground. But with the Avengers, they can easily raid the base, can’t they? Stop everyone in their tracks. Well, theoretically, anyway. There’s still an element of danger. But that’s the hero gig.

But he doesn’t  _ want  _ to involve them. Killian made it personal by attacking Happy. Tony’s not going to just forget that. And he’s already set his plan under motion. Stopping right now would be a waste, and maybe Maya doesn’t want to work with the Avengers, anyway. 

The more he thinks about it, the more he’s certain he has to do this on his own. He doesn’t want to burden the Avengers with his problems, his mistakes (because all this is certainly due to his own fault. If he hadn’t—). Not to mention, if he works too closely with them there will be a chance they’ll find out his secret, and he can’t have that, not at all. Steve would look at him with those sad eyes, hurt at how he was betrayed by the man who was supposed to be his best friend, and—

Steve accepts that easily. “Okay, that’s fine. We’ll come up with another plan once Iron Man—actually, we should probably let him recover for now. Make sure he’s getting the best medical treatment possible, would you?” he says to Tony.

Tony’s rib twinges at that exact moment. “Sure,” he says. 

Steve nods and turns to Natasha. “Nat, I want you to keep an eye on AIM. Stark, I’m assuming you’ve been tracking them already so I want you to share everything you have with Natasha.”

“Hold on,” Tony says, just because it’s expected of him, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Steve immediately grits his teeth. “Stark, just do as I say for now. You’re not part of the team, I’m well aware of that, but we’re in a tight situation.”

Tony makes a show of it, considering whether it’s worth listening to Steve or not. “Fine,” he says eventually, making it sound as though he’s doing them all a favor. He nods at Natasha. “Romanoff, with me.”

Tony shows her the data he’s collected so far, all the information he has on Killian’s entourage, though he keeps everything on Extremis to himself. Not because he doesn’t trust her, but because it seems like a moot point to show her all the equations and formulas Maya had developed trying to crack the thing. 

She frowns at the screen, glancing at Tony from the corner of her eye. “You really were going to deal with this on your own?”

“Well, Iron Man was. I was going to help him with that.”   
  
Natasha shakes her head. “That’s still so much. Look at all this. Iron Man couldn’t have taken all of them on his own. He couldn’t even take one.”   
  
Ouch. It’s true, and yet, it still stings. “Today wasn’t—part of the plan. Iron Man was just distraught.” 

“Hm.” Natasha purses her lips. “Not surprising. He can be rash at times.” She eyes him, and adds, “Of course, he’s not the only one.”

Tony falters, slightly. Does she know? He wouldn’t be surprised if she did, but he thought he’d been so careful up until now. What was the slip-up? And if she does know, has she told anyone? 

“Steve makes a lot of dumb decisions, too,” she continues, and Tony inwardly breathes a sigh of relief. He’s safe. Natasha doesn’t know (or, at least, she’s not going to make it obvious that she does). “So if Iron Man’s upset about that, just remind him of that fact. Tell him, ‘octopus incident,’ and he’ll know what you’re talking about.”

Tony  _ does  _ know what she’s talking about. It had been—an interesting battle. “Will do,” he says.

They stay silent after that, working together and gathering data. He thinks he’s safe, but he still catches Natasha glancing at him with a thoughtful expression every now and then. 

Tony eventually retreats to his lab, intent on nursing his injuries and ignoring the fuck out of everything that’s happened today. He barely gets a moment of peace before JARVIS announces that Steve is waiting outside.

“Tell him no,” Tony says automatically, on the verge of tearing out his hair. Why the hell does everyone want to talk to him all of a sudden? Usually, they’re all content at ignoring him and then talking shit about him behind his back. 

“I’m afraid he’s insistent.”

“Fine,” Tony snaps, waving a hand at the door. “Let him in.”   
  
When Steve walks in, all innocent and doe-eyed, Tony crosses his arms over his chest. “Alright, Rogers. Spill. What do you want? Because I’m not in the mood for fuckin—”

“Nothing like that,” Steve says quickly, as though someone (besides JARVIS) is listening in and he doesn’t want them to know about what he gets up to. He takes a deep breath, glancing down. His eyelashes flutter downwards, kissing his cheeks like golden snowflakes, before he lifts his head. “I was thinking—we should redo everything. Start from the beginning.”

Tony blinks. He has to admit, never in a million years would he have expected that from Steve. “You what?” he asks. He forcibly puts his arms at his sides, trying not to come across as so defensive. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he feels hot. 

“I want to get to know you. You’re not… what I assumed, and that’s all on me,” Steve says. “I realize now that I made a bunch of hasty assumptions even before we met, and that I treated you a bit unfairly.”

It’s not Steve’s fault. It’s not his fault at all. Tony  _ had  _ been thoughtless with his words, and Steve was just calling him out. And, after that one meeting, Tony  _ wanted _ Steve to think that of him. He never once blamed Steve for his opinion of Tony, because that’s exactly the kind of opinion Tony wanted Steve to have of him. But of course, he can’t say all that out loud. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sure, you were a bit of a dick, but you were going against the world’s biggest dick, and I don’t mean that in terms of size.”   
  
Steve points at him. “ _ That’s  _ what I mean. You say all this shit, like you’re self-aware, and honestly? It just kind of seems like you’ve accepted the fact that that’s what everyone else thinks of you.”   
  
No. No, this  _ cannot  _ happen. Tony won’t let it. He can’t let Steve closer, because if he does, and Steve finds out everything—if Steve decides he’s not worth it after all, Tony won’t survive the heartbreak. He just won’t. When he’s admiring Steve from afar, certain in the knowledge that they will never go anywhere more, he can handle that, because he’s prepared for it. He  _ knows  _ they’ll never amount to anything.

But if—if Steve is trying harder, if he wants to know the man under the armor—Tony can’t let that happen. Kissing him was a mistake, a fluke. Tony’s not going to make the same mistake twice. “That—no,” he says, and inwardly winces at the lack of snark. Look, he’s tired, he’s in pain, and all he wants is to go to sleep and never think about any of this again. So sue him for not acting the way he usually does.

“I mean, look, I know how shaken up you are about Happy. Someone as narcissistic as you claim to be would never think twice before just shrugging and hiring a new driver. I’m sorry about what happened, by the way.”

Tony’s put on a lot of acts his entire life, said and done a lot of things he didn’t actually mean, but even he can’t bring himself to pretend to be careless about the fact that one of his closest friends is lying half-dead in a hospital. “I appreciate it. Your point?”

“I want to get to know you, Star— _ Tony _ . The real you. Not—” Steve waves in his general direction, “—whatever mask you put out for the public.”

“It’s not a mask,” Tony says, crossing his arms tightly over his chest again. “And we will never be friends, Rogers,” he adds icily, more like himself again (a monster, a heartless creature). “Never. So get the hell out of my workshop and stop trying.”

Steve doesn’t seem shaken up at all by that, unfortunately. He just looks at Tony with those sad eyes of his before turning and leaving the lab. 

Tony sits back and just watches the door, thinking.  
  



	5. Steve

To be quite honest, Steve didn’t expect anything else when he walked into the workshop. He knows how Stark—_ Tony _ (because he can’t keep calling him Stark anymore, not when he’s already dehumanized him so much) plays this game. When he feels vulnerable or threatened, he tends to close himself off, avoid whatever the trigger is. And he’ll do anything to get away from that trigger, whether it be running off, or in this case, running _ them _off. 

Steve sees the patterns now. He’s not always the greatest at reading people, especially ones as complex as Tony, but he’s a strategist. His mind is designed to look at the smaller details and come up with an overall conclusion based on that. And currently, his mind has looked at all the small tics he’s noticed over the two years they’ve known each other and has come up with a conclusion: that Tony Stark is not who he says he is.

Talking to him in the lab had all but confirmed that. Tony had tried, but he hadn’t managed to pull off the bluster that comes so naturally for him. Probably still too distracted by the attack, and whatever’s going on with Iron Man as well.

Iron Man.

Steve brushes a finger over his lips, still feeling the imprint of his mouth on Steve’s, the bristly facial hair brushing his cheeks. Steve had always assumed Iron Man would be clean-shaven. He’s not sure why. Maybe he had thought a beard would get caught in the latches of the faceplate.

The kiss had been simultaneously everything and nothing he had ever wanted. He’s wanted Iron Man for so long, even before he realized just what these feelings were, but it hadn’t been in the way he had ever imagined. He had wanted to see Iron Man’s face, to see the love and joy in those brown eyes. 

Instead, Iron Man was crying. A tear had dripped onto Steve as they kissed. And now Iron Man is just—gone. Resting, Tony had said. Steve knows better, though. He ran off, too scared to deal with his feelings.

Steve just hopes that this won’t wreck their friendship.

He finds himself in the common room again, where the rest of the team is gathered. They were talking amongst themselves, but stopped and looked up at him when he entered. In the background, the news is on. They seem to be talking about Iron Man’s attack. Ms. Potts is handling it, Steve thinks. He had to talk with her earlier. He also warned her of what was going on and urged her to go into hiding. “What?” he asks, feeling a slight warmth on his neck. “Is there something on my face?”

“Stark,” Clint says lazily. “You sure teaming up with him’ll work out? There’s a reason he was rejected from the initiative.”  
  
Bruce nods. “I probably talk with him the most besides Iron Man, and he’s… not… that reliable.”  
  
Steve frowns. Talking shit about Tony was something that happened often among the team, largely fanned by Iron Man who always seemed to want to complain about him. But now… he can’t bring himself to do that. It’s not right. It doesn’t make him any better than the bullies he proclaimed to fight against. 

The man he had seen in the workshop, pale and wan and with dark circles around his eyes that makeup couldn’t hide, was nothing like the blustering bully Steve had built him up to be in his head. Steve could clearly see how stressed and tired he was, exhausted from always keeping up a farce. Now that he knew what to look for, it was obvious. How it had escaped Natasha’s notice was beyond him. He supposes even a spy can have biases. 

“I don’t want to hear another word about it,” he says firmly. “Tony’s helping us and he’ll do his best. He’s going through a lot right now.”

_ “Tony?” _Clint asks incredulously. “When did that happen? Just a few weeks ago you were ranting about Stark and how awful he was.”

Thor nods in agreement. “I remember that, too.”

Steve sighs. “I’ve… well, I’ve seen things that made me realize I was wrong.” He’s not going to go into specifics. Just thinking about what he’s been doing with Tony for so many months makes his skin crawl. What had he turned himself into? 

Natasha is looking at him thoughtfully. She leans over as much as her cast allows and grabs the remote, changing the channel to some cooking show. Steve has to admit, he prefers that to the news at the moment. “When he was showing me what he had on AIM he was fine. Kind of quiet.” Steve blinks at her. She definitely knows more than he thought. 

“Nat, you can’t seriously believe this!” Clint cries. “You were the one who did the personality assessment.”

She shrugs carefully, eyes trained on the TV. “I didn’t say Steve was right. Just putting my own two cents out there.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Steve says, although it really does. But he’s not going to be able to change anyone’s mind without telling them everything, and possibly not even then. He’s going to have to get more evidence, break Tony out of his shell.

“Right,” Bruce says, adjusting his glasses as he glances at the TV. The woman is putting in crushed tomatoes into a pot. “Have you been able to contact Iron Man?”

“I tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up. I’ll try again a little later,” Steve says. He really hopes Iron Man is taking it easy, and not going off doing something stupid. They’ve had enough chaos for the day. 

Thor is focused entirely on the TV now, but he turns to glance at Steve. “Let us know how the Man of Iron fares, Steven. We’re all concerned about his well being.”

“Of course,” Steve says. The Avengers are all silent now as they focus on the show, and Steve smiles, shaking his head. He really does love his team. 

About an hour later, Steve tries calling Iron Man again, hoping beyond hope that he’ll pick up. Steve literally has no idea where he is, and that’s honestly scary. They’ve never gone this long without contact when one of them isn’t on a mission, and at least then they know where the other is. Now, Steve is completely in the dark. For all he knows, Iron Man could be—no. Don’t go there. Surely Tony knows where Iron Man is? He’s his boss, after all, and he didn’t seem concerned.

Or he could be hiding it. Steve doesn’t know anymore. 

He taps his foot, waiting for Iron Man to pick up. He doesn’t. The call goes to voicemail, and Steve breathes out heavily. “Hey, Shellhead. Hope you’re doing okay. I’m worried about you, after—what happened. I swear, I don’t think any less of you. If you can’t date me, that’s fine. Totally fine. I just want to be friends, you know? As long as we’re together nothing else matters. Call me back soon. Winghead.”

Steve slips his phone into his pocket and sinks into a chair, holding his head in his hands for one vulnerable second. He’s alone, and no one’s going to see him succumbing to weakness. It’s just—everything seems to be going crazy right now. Tony is—_ Tony_, there’s a very serious threat the Avengers have to deal with, Happy’s in a coma, and now Iron Man is MIA. 

It all seems to be falling apart right now. The Avengers have been through a lot in their two-year-long span, but the problems Steve’s dealing with right now are more personal. Intimate. He has no idea how to deal with Iron Man’s torn affection, and Tony’s coldness, and—it’s just a lot.

Steve’s trying, okay? He realized how awful he’s been, how badly he’s been treating the people around him. He recognizes the fact that he has problems. It’s a step up from pretending that there was nothing wrong, that he didn’t have anger issues, or that he wasn’t depressed. Ever since he helped Tony that one day in the lab… his world has been turning around. Steve’s started to recognize how shitty he’s been acting, how it’s affecting the people he knows. He never really thought about it before, but helping Tony with his sickness—that was a wake up call. 

Tony’s not who he thought he was, and Steve never should have succumbed to the dirty hatred filling up his heart. How is he any better than any of the villains they’ve fought since he did?

He has a _ lot _of problems, and he deals with a lot of shit. But sometimes, Steve wishes he could just catch a break. He can’t always have the weight of the world on his shoulders, can he?

And just like that, he feels awful. How can he say that? He’s a superhero, he’s Captain America. He has a responsibility to the public. Sure, he can get stressed and worried about the issues in his private life, but he can’t complain about the war he has to fight. If he doesn’t, then who will? He needs to do his part. It’s only right.

He leans back, setting his head on the top of the chair and staring up at the ceiling. Is it even worth getting to know Tony? Steve was determined to right his wrongs, but if Tony isn’t receptive—no, Steve’s not going to give up. He hasn’t given up, ever, not even when he was just a skinny little punk failing at throwing punches in back alleys. 

It’s not that Steve expects to suddenly become best friends with Tony. They likely will never become anything more than acquaintances. But he wants to erase the animosity between them, to start over on a clean slate. Is that too optimistic? Steve’s been told he tends to look at the good side far too much. 

He just wonders why Tony is so opposed to it. Does he hate Steve, or does he treat everyone he doesn’t know well like that?  
  
Well, if he does, then how that explain Maya? When Tony mentioned that she was only there to help him with the threat, Steve had felt a strong wave of shame and embarrassment wash over him. He had acted like an _ idiot_, and she wasn’t even Tony’s girlfriend. 

Steve’s not going to give up just like that, though. 

The next day, Steve tries to talk to Tony again. Since they’re working together anyway, Steve uses that as an excuse to speak to him. Supposedly, Steve has Tony help him to come up with a plan of attack, and Steve pulls up all the data they have on AIM, but he doesn’t pay it any attention beyond that. 

Tony’s frowning at him, dark sunglasses perched on his nose and arms crossed tightly over his chest. “What is it, Cap?”

Steve rubs the back of his hand over his forehead, sighing. He realizes he might have come off as too strong yesterday. “I’m sorry for what I said the other day. I know you said we’ll never be friends, and I respect that. I just want to put the animosity between us aside. Nothing more.”  
  
With the sunglasses, Tony’s face is completely unreadable. Privately, Steve wonders if that’s the reason he wears them in the first place, because otherwise his wide, brown eyes are all too expressive, dark and inky in their pleasure and hatred as Steve swallows down his—no. He’s not going to think of that again. They’re not going back there. 

“Why?” Tony asks finally. “What’s with this—sudden change? You hated my guts, and now suddenly you’re forgetting everything that’s happened between us. Becoming the bigger man.” He scoffs, laughing darkly. “Never mind, I answered my own question. Gotta remember that you’re still Captain America.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Steve asks.

Tony makes a sweeping gesture at him. “You’re—_ you_. All American apple pie, boy wonder. Goody two shoes.”

Steve inwardly rolls his eyes. He’s tired of people only thinking he’s the role of Captain America and nothing more. He was Steve Rogers long before he was ever an icon of patriotism. And though he loves his country—or, well, what it _ could _ be, he wishes that people would look beyond the stars and stripes. “You know as well as I do that I’m _ not _that,” he says softly. He thinks of all the stuff he’s said about Tony over the years, both to his face and behind his back, and a strong surge of guilt wells up in his chest, threatening to crush him down with its intensity. 

“Sure,” Tony says, clearly not believing him. “Let’s just go back to figuring out what the fuck to do with AIM.”

Steve doesn’t want to scare him off, so he easily agrees. He turns to the holograms that he projected, and asks Tony to explain everything to him. 

Tony is giving him a dark look—or that might just be the sunglasses—but nods and proceeds to that. 

Over the next hour or so, they go over AIM’s hideouts and weaknesses. The entire time, Steve attempts to bring Tony out of his shell, with varying degree. 

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks as he studies the file on Aldrich Killian. He can feel Tony’s gaze burning into the side of his head, but he forces himself to focus on the file. 

“Blue,” says Tony after a pause, and Steve is admittedly shocked. That’s the most information Tony has willingly offered about himself, as sad as it sounds. “A clear blue, like a cloudless sky, or the ocean. Azure, really.” There’s an inflection in his voice Steve can’t place, an almost reverence, really, but that wouldn’t make sense.

“Mine is red,” Steve offers, thinking of the Iron Man armor when the sunlight hits it just right, the way it gleams and the little sparkles he can see in the paint job. “Bright red.”

Tony tilts his head. “Hot rod red?”  
  
“Sure,” Steve says, after he takes a moment to recall what a “hot rod” is. “That kind of red.”

“Interesting,” Tony says, and then doesn’t explain what he means by that.

They grow silent again, until Steve asks Tony another question, and another. He doesn’t open up as much with those questions. The atmosphere is slightly uncomfortable, tension hanging thickly in the air. Steve knows Tony can tell what he’s trying to do, but mercifully Tony doesn’t remark on it.

Eventually, Tony escapes by citing the fact that he has a meeting to go to. Steve lets him go easily, and Tony doesn’t look back as he fast-walks away. Steve sighs and hangs his head. This is going to be hard, but he’s not going to give up just yet. 

“JARVIS, any idea what Tony likes? Like, TV shows or movies? Something that I can talk to him about.”

There is a pause. “Mr. Stark does not particularly have time to watch things anymore, but he is a fan of both Star Trek and Star Wars.”  
  
Those were two things that Steve was introduced to early on, and he’s seen the majority of the movies. He can easily talk about those with Tony.

“And for what it matters,” JARVIS continues, “I appreciate what you are trying to do with Mr. Stark. He does not—have a lot of people on his side, and he could always use more. I just want to caution you about your intentions, because if you do end up befriending him, and change your mind later on, then I will not hesitate to hurt you.” His voice is as impassive as ever, cool-toned, but Steve does not doubt JARVIS will do everything in his power (which is admittedly quite a lot) to make Steve’s life miserable.

“I won’t,” Steve firmly promises. Without taking a second more to hesitate, he says, “Unless he _ really _ is what the tabloids say, which I seriously doubt, then I won’t ever turn my back on him.” Steve really hadn’t thought much about what he and Tony would be like once he finally broke through his shell, but as he says it, he only becomes more resolute. He’s _ not _going to abandon Tony once he gets bored. 

He doesn’t know if they’ll ever be anything close to friends, but he’s not going to betray his trust. Ever. Steve’s only made a few promises in his life, but he always tries his best to adhere to them. There was only one he ever failed at, which he regrets deeply. He’s not going to let Tony be another broken promise, not like Peggy.

“Then you’d better keep that promise,” JARVIS says gravely. 

Steve thinks he will.

Steve feels as though he’s being torn in two directions, he realizes the next day. Iron Man is still missing and hasn’t responded to anyone’s messages, Tony won’t tell them what’s going on beyond, “Iron Man is recovering,” and Tony is still unreceptive to Steve’s advances. He’s focused on trying to get through to Tony, but then that means he’s neglecting the situation with Iron Man, which only makes Steve feel like he’s being a horrible friend. 

At the moment, he’s decided to ignore both situations and go through a team training session instead, though there’s a glaring gap where Iron Man should be. 

AIM is most likely going to be a trickier opponent, what with all the enhanced people they have. Hell, just one of them was enough to give Iron Man a run for his money, and was troubling even for four of the Avengers. They’re going to have to be able to handle multiple, maybe even dozens, of them. Currently, they’re focused on trying to develop synchronized moves and combinations.

Steve tosses Clint into the air, who grabs onto a grappling hook, and kicks Thor straight in the face after swinging forward from the momentum—not enough to leave a mark, but enough to be a warning. Thor steps back, and Steve quickly calls a halt to the training. “Okay, that was good,” Steve says. Of course, they’ve mastered that particular one. Next—Steve thinks about it. He’s already practiced using the shield with Thor’s lightning. Clint has already tried shooting targets from Hulk’s back and has done the toss with Thor instead. 

The only one that’s missing is Iron Man. Natasha, too, technically, because she can’t practice with her broken leg, but at least she’s physically there. It seems the rest of the team is thinking that as well, because they keep glancing at the entrance to the gym, as if they’re waiting for Iron Man to show up.

“Clint, you try working with Hulk again,” Steve says eventually. 

Bruce sighs, looking weary. “Really? After I just dehulked?” 

Steve forgot he had told Hulk he was done for the moment. “Uhh, never mind. Clint, if you could spar with Thor instead.”

They both nod and head to the center of the mat. Steve steps back with the rest of the team, watching as the two meld into a familiar sequence. They’ve all fought with each so much it’s more like a synchronized dance, at this point. They all know each other’s weaknesses, their strengths. They’ve really come together and become a family, Steve thinks.

Just as Clint lands a roundhouse kick on Thor’s face, Steve hears loud footsteps from the entrance of the gym. He turns his head and spots— “Iron Man!” The team forgotten, he runs over to the man. “How are you?” He can’t help himself from scanning Iron Man’s body, despite the fact that the armor doesn’t reveal anything. “Where have you been?” Seeing him standing there makes Steve realize just how much he had ached to see his best friend. It’s as though a weight that had been constricting Steve’s chest over the past few days has released, and he can finally breathe easily now.

Iron Man turns those glowing eyes on Steve. Despite the fact that the armor is completely the same—well, it’s a different model from the one he last used—Steve gets a chill in his spine. There’s something cold about that gaze, and Steve can’t explain why. “I’ve been—recovering, you could say. Sorry about the radio silence,” he says to the larger room, all eyes on him. “Just needed a break. You know how it is. Mr. Stark told me I should probably come over because you guys were sparring in preparation for AIM.”  
  
“You know we know about that?” Steve asks without thinking.  
  
Iron Man nods. “He updated me on everything. Again, I’m sorry I disappeared. I’ll try not to do that again.”  
  
Steve knows why Iron Man disappeared, but he can’t just say that, so he simply nods and claps a hand on Iron Man’s shoulder. He can feel the body tense up slightly under his palm, and Steve wants to scream. Iron Man doesn’t have to do this—become cold, distant, be afraid that he ruined his relationship with Steve.

Steve wishes that Iron Man had come at a more private time, then he could give him the speech he prepared just for this moment. “Well, I can’t say it’s okay, Shellhead, but I’m glad you’re alright. You’ve recovered, right? At least mostly.”

Iron Man nods again. “Still need to take it a bit slow, but I should be as right as rain in a few days.”  
  
“It’s good to see you again,” Natasha says, hugging him. Iron Man returns it stiffly, and Steve’s chest hurts. It’s a physical ache, how much Steve desires to tell him how much he loves him, to not to be afraid of rejection, to let himself be happy. 

But now is not the time or place to say that, so he remains quiet. Slowly, they melt back into their routine, finally feeling whole again. Steve can’t stop himself from glancing at Iron Man every so often, just to make sure he’s still there, that he hasn’t run off again.

After the training session ends, Steve is quick to call Iron Man to the side before he can leave. “What’s up?” Iron Man asks as he approaches Steve, who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The others linger, clearly curious, but a glance from Steve quickly drives them off.

Steve has a vague idea to bring up Tony and the recent developments with him—the personal ones, Steve means. Iron Man already knows about Tony working with them. Then he decides it’s probably not the best idea. Iron Man has a deep-rooted hatred for Tony Stark, with a level of vivaciousness Steve has not seen in anything else. Iron Man probably wouldn’t respond well to that piece of news right now.

It wasn’t what he wanted to tell Iron Man, anyway. “About you and Happy,” he starts, and Iron Man stiffens slightly, “I completely understand why you did it, and I don’t blame you for your reaction. But you can’t keep being a lone wolf. We’re a team, Shellhead. It doesn’t matter who you are under the suit. You should feel comfortable enough to tell us things like this. I get that Mr. Stark asked you to keep quiet about AIM, but you could have still told us that that guy was behind what happened to Happy.”

Iron Man’s head droops slightly, and Steve feels awful. He’s never been in the position to scold Iron Man like this before, and his heart clenches. “Yeah, I get that,” Iron Man says eventually, lifting his head and staring at Steve straight on. “I’m not going to apologize because I don’t regret it—going after him, fighting him. He deserved it.”  
  
Steve’s not in the mood to argue about that, though he does think Iron Man should at the least acknowledge he made a mistake. But they’re both—in a vulnerable position right now, and Steve doesn’t think he can bring himself to fight with his best friend. “That’s fine. Just as long as you don’t do it in the future.” And, before Iron Man can say anything, he moves on, “Anyway, about the gala tomorrow. I was thinking—you could come as my date?”  
  
Steve immediately realizes that was the wrong thing to say. He can’t see Iron Man’s face, but he can imagine how stricken he looks underneath. He’s an idiot. How could he have forgotten what Iron Man did, how he feels about him? “I mean it completely platonically,” he says, trying to salvage his mistake. “I mean, Nat and Clint are going together, and Bruce and Thor. It doesn’t have to be a romantic thing. We don’t have to do anything. I just want to spend time with you, Shellhead, regardless of what our… relationship status is.”  
  
Iron Man is still staring at him, but eventually he sighs, a tinny little sound. “I’ll have to be with Mr. Stark most of the time at the gala, so if you don’t mind that, then I guess I can go as your date.”  
  
“Of course,” Steve says, with just the slightest touch of desperation. He really does miss Iron Man. He feels like they’re slowly being driven apart by a force outside their control, and his chest aches at the thought. They’re Shellhead and Winghead, best of friends and teammates. Since the Avengers’ inception, they’ve been as thick as thieves. Everyone knows they come as a package. They _ can’t _be separated—god knows how many people have tried—until now, at least. 

They have to figure this out, and they can’t do that without talking. Steve will do anything to keep Iron Man at his side, and so he’s willing to do what most people wouldn’t.

He takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth. “Listen, about the kiss—” 

He doesn’t get any farther than that, though, because Iron Man completely shuts down. Steve can see the change in real time, and it’s strange to think, when he can’t even see Iron Man’s face. But he notices the difference, the way Iron Man stands straight up, the way his arc reactor starts to dim, and without a second’s hesitation, he walks away.

Steve is left staring at the spot Iron Man was standing, hand outstretched.

Steve quickly decided after that moment that he was never going to speak of what happened ever again. As far as he was concerned, it never happened. Iron Man never took off his helmet and kissed him, and Steve wasn’t left chasing after what seemed to be a shell of the man he once knew.

The gala comes quickly enough, the hours passing without any more incidents. Currently Steve is boredly sipping at a glass of sparkling water with Natasha at his side as a pair of wealthy socialites laugh and titter, telling stories that they expect Steve to relate to for some reason. That’s how most of the night has passed, with everyone fawning over him as though that’ll somehow make Steve commend them for donating the bare minimum to appear as though they care.

Tony is somewhere. Steve hasn’t seen him for most of the night, save for when he delivered a passionate and persuasive speech. Steve doesn’t know how he does it—how he can just turn on one mask with the flick of a switch, and then just as quickly, change to another one depending on what the situation calls for. 

Iron Man has also been around, sticking to the edges of the room with standing guard. He’s ramrod straight and seems more robotic than human at the moment, though Steve hates himself for the thought. Iron Man is completely human, more human than the sharks milling about here. 

He catches Iron Man’s gaze, and the man gives him a jaunty little wave. Steve smiles and nods, before turning back to the woman who is still going on about the poor children in Africa. It’s all said with a heavy layer of patronization and racism, and Steve is getting sick of listening to her. 

Going by Natasha’s dull eyes, similar to the way they were when they first started out as a team, she’s also tired of hearing the spiel. 

“Excuse me,” Steve says with a kind, beatific smile, cutting her short. “I just realized I should speak to some of the veterans here. I recognize a few of them, and I’d like to catch up with them.”

The woman’s eyes flash, but she pastes on an understanding smile, her red-painted lips looking sharp, covered in blood. “Of course, Captain Rogers.” She’s so desperate for his blessing, she’ll agree to anything. The man by her side, her husband, doesn’t say anything. He already tried to weasel something out of Steve earlier.

This part of the world sickens Steve, and even more so that he has to deal with them regularly. Though he would like to say things were simpler in the thirties, he knows that’s not true. There was rampant bigotry, even worse than it is now, and Steve is aware enough to acknowledge that now. 

“Thank you. I hope that your—relief efforts for the orphans in Africa goes well,” Steve finishes lamely, not sure if that’s what she was even talking about. Judging by the confusion on her face, it wasn’t, and Steve flees before she can say anything else, pushing Natasha along.

True to his word, he busies himself with speaking to the veterans. Some of them do recognize him, and Steve has a few misty-eyed reunions. This is much more his level of comfort, especially since most of the veterans also feel out of place at the flagrant show of wealth.

Once he’s finished meeting all the veterans, Steve decides he’s going to try and talk to Tony again. He hasn’t seen him for the entirety of the gala, and Steve’s not sure if he’s been flitting about talking with benefactors or what. 

“You want to try looking for Tony?” he asks Natasha, who’s looking stunning in a diamond-encrusted black number despite the fact that she’s in a wheelchair. She had insisted on coming, despite her broken leg.

She shrugs noncommittally. “Sure. He’ll probably provide more entertainment than most of the old coots here.” Her lip curls as she speaks, and Steve winces. She’d already been hit on by most of them, some of them right in front of their wives, and though a single glance was generally warning enough to not go any further, some of them still hadn’t gotten the hint. 

Steve didn’t try to step in. He learned years ago that Natasha could handle herself in a situation similar to this, and that he would mostly be a detriment if anything. Still, he hates the way these men treat women, thinking it’s okay because they can get away with it. If only he wasn’t in the public eye. He’d love to knock some sense into those brains of theirs.

Steve pushes her wheelchair along as they head to the corner where Iron Man is standing. He’s holding a full flute of champagne, which Natasha deftly plucks out of his hand. Some waiter probably handed it to him to be nice.

“Hey, Shellhead,” Steve says with a bright smile. “How’re you holding up?”

“Fine, Winghead,” Iron Man says. “You?” There’s a strange carefulness to his tone, like every word is deliberate. 

Steve shrugs. “Bored, but that’s to be expected.”

Natasha nods her agreement. “Same.”

“I was… actually wondering where Tony is,” Steve says. “I’m sure you’ve seen him, but I wanted to try talking to him.” Steve doesn’t even know what he’s going to say to Tony. He just knows he wants to talk to him about _ something_. And Natasha’s right, he’ll probably be more interesting than anyone else here. 

Iron Man pauses, tilting his head. It’s stiff and jerky in the movement, as though there’s no one under the suit, which is ridiculous. It’s been a while since they’ve been to a gala, but generally Iron Man is uncomfortable at them, hence why he tends to hide at the sidelines. Steve can’t blame him. “He’s… around, I’m sure. I don’t think he wants to be disturbed.”

Steve looks around, but doesn’t see him. There’s not nearly enough people in the room for it to be considered crowded, and Steve frowns. 

“Did he go out into the hall?” Natasha asks.

Iron Man lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.” 

Steve is starting to get a dark, foreboding feeling creeping up over him, and he can’t quite shake the chills. “I thought you were supposed to be watching him.” He tries not to keep his voice accusing, but that’s literally his job.

“He told me to stay here,” Iron Man says quickly. 

Steve shares a look with Natasha, both of them clearly coming to the same conclusion. “Come with us, Iron Man. I think we should go look for him.”

Iron Man seems unsure, but eventually he nods, following at a few paces behind as Steve and Natasha head out into the nearest hall.

There’s voices, though Steve can’t figure out what they’re saying, even with his enhanced hearing. 

“Maybe we should stay back,” Iron Man says, nervously. “It’s probably just a couple getting handsy. Maybe it’s just _ Mr. Stark _getting handsy.”

It’s definitely possible, and would fit Tony’s reputation. God knows how many people he’s bedded over the years. But Steve knows Tony doesn’t do that anymore, hasn’t for a while. Natasha is clearly thinking the same thing. “But he doesn’t,” she says simply, and that shuts Iron Man up.

Steve loves Iron Man with his whole heart, the love he holds for him makes his chest ache and his heart pound. He didn’t even know it was possible to love so much that he physically hurts, because while he felt that with Peggy, it’s for completely different reasons. But he also realizes that Iron Man has a glaring bias against Tony Stark that can only be detrimental at times. This may or may not be one of those times. 

Steve charges forward, because the dark, foreboding feeling is only getting stronger, enveloping him until the ice is all he can feel. If something is happening, and he can’t stop it, what good is he, he would have already failed his promise to Tony.

As he nears a door that leads to the library, he can hear the voices clearly. There’s the sound of clothes rustling, and then he hears it.

Tony shouts, “Get off me!” followed by the sound of skin smacking against skin and a cry of pain. Steve doesn’t even hesitate before he busts the door open, sending it flying somewhere. He pays no attention to that, entirely focused on the group of roughly twelve masked goons holding Tony tight. His arms are tied behind his back, and a small cut on his cheek is bleeding sluggishly.

His eyes are wide, staring at the three of them. “Wh—” he starts, swallows heavily, goes quiet. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate before he leaps into action, reaching for the nearest man and knocking him out. That spurs everyone else to fight back. Natasha is busy calling the rest of the Avengers, a gun already in her hand. Still seated in the wheelchair, she quickly shoots a man who comes for her, while Iron Man shoots a repulsor at another one. 

He almost seems hesitant to do it, but Steve is too focused on getting Tony free to pay attention to him. The fight doesn’t last long, interrupted by a loud sound, and Steve is incapacitated for a moment by a strong force. An EMP. He grunts as he slams into a bookcase, several heavy books falling on top of him. He quickly shoots up and takes stock of the room. Iron Man is lying heavily on the ground, suit completely offline. There’s a group of the men surrounding him, while Natasha has gotten hold of Tony. 

Another one of the goons holds a weapon threateningly against his head, and Steve stays silent.

The rest of the Avengers arrived just in time, gathered together at the entrance with Natasha. They watch the scene warily.

Eventually one of the men speaks. “That was an EMP. Iron Man’s suit is down. We could take him now, unless Mr. Stark agrees to come with us. If you make a movement to try and stop us, we’ll kill the Captain.”

_ No._ No, no, no. This can’t happen. It _ can’t_. Steve stands there, frozen, watching the scene. Either way, one of them will suffer. He’s going to have to step back and stop them as soon as the switch is made, because there’s no way Tony will agree to this. From what little Steve knows of Tony, he _ knows _ Tony is not the kind of person who would selfishly put his life before others. Hell, Iron Man spends more time protecting the world than _ Tony_. 

Steve’s heart is pounding his ears, drowning out the sound of anything else. He has never felt so anxious in his life, so terrified to see what will happen but unable to look away out of a sense of morbid curiosity. 

Tony’s eyes are dark as he pushes himself out of Natasha’s hold, stepping forward. Steve’s breath catches in his throat. 

Tony rubs at his arms where the ropes had been tied tightly, staring down at the prone armor. “I refuse. Have at him,” he says coldly, and Steve has never felt the world crash down around him so harshly as it does in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late edit but I think I'm going on hiatus. I know no one really cares but writing has been making me severely depressed lately. It's no one's fault but my own for caring about what people think of my fics, and lately I've felt like I'm putting in way too much work for little reception back. I know that's stupid because I've gotten a lot of attention on this fic and I shouldn't complain about it. I really am grateful for every comment, but. Idk. It's just in general. Not just this fic in particular. I've contemplated deleting my Ao3 several times so I'm just going to stop writing before it gets to that point. I'm really sorry about that and know I'm letting anyone who's reading down but I really just can't bring myself to be happy whenever I think about writing. 
> 
> I'll finish all my projects eventually. I have a lot. I just need to stop for now. I hope anyone who's reading understands.
> 
> Also—don't feel guilty or obligated to comment. I appreciate each and every one of you, whether you leave a comment or kudos or just enjoy the fic and check back every so often. Please do not feel guilty. This is not me being mad. I'm just trying to take a break and explain why.


	6. Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the only thing that I can say is that your responses to the last chapter blew me away. I am so grateful for every single one of you. I genuinely had no idea so many people liked my fic. I appreciate all the attention so much, and I must apologize if I guilted anyone into commenting, because that was not my intention. I simply wanted to take a break from posting because it was taking a toll on my mental health, and I think it helped a lot. Everyone was so understanding and supportive ;_; thank you all so much for everything. To make up for the long wait, I've written a super long chapter that clocks in at around 14k. I hope you all like it! <3
> 
> -
> 
> Apologies for fake science I tried my best.
> 
> This chapter unintentionally ended up being similar to IM3, but hopefully it works.

Tony should have known it wouldn’t go to plan. Nothing ever does.

All JARVIS had to do was stand to the side looking intimidating and keep people away from the hall where Tony was supposed to get kidnapped. He was great at analyzing Tony’s speech patterns and mimicking them, so no one should have gotten the idea that someone different was under the armor.

Tony didn’t count on Steve fucking Rogers getting nosy and searching for him. He really, really should have, in hindsight. Steve hasn’t left him alone since the fight with the Extremis enhancile. Tony had tolerated his presence thus far, but now he’s realizing that that may have been a mistake, because now he has to choose between his life and ‘Iron Man’s.’

Normally he would have simply gone ahead and let them take him, since that was what he wanted to do anyway, but the Avengers being there complicates everything. Now, they’re going to go home and try to open the armor to make sure the man inside is fine, and discover that there’s no one there. And who will deal with that? Tony won’t be there to explain everything away. Maya might end up having to take the fall, and Tony does not want her to shoulder the burden of everyone thinking she’s Iron Man.

No, he can’t let that happen. He’ll just have to figure out how to stop them another way. Of course, that means the Avengers will now think he has no problem letting someone die in his stead, but really, it’s better that way. At least Steve will leave him alone now, because of course, that’s what Tony wants. It _ is _. He would like nothing more than for Steve Rogers to leave him the fuck alone and put everything else he thinks about Tony behind him. 

As for the armor, Tony’s not worried about AIM cracking it open and stealing the tech. They’re not going to be able to short of blowing it open, which is not much of a loss to Tony since there’s no one inside. 

And that is why he steps forward, a shadow flitting across his face. There’s no going back now. “I refuse. Have at him,” he says with as much as coldness as he can muster. 

There is silence. It’s clear that even the leader of the agents wasn’t expecting that, because pure shock and confusion blooms on his face. “Well, you really must be what everyone thinks,” he says, eventually, trying to regain his bluster, and then he sighs. “I guess there’s no choice—”  
  
“No!” Steve cries from Tony’s right. He lunges forward, completely ignoring the gun pressed to his temple. His eyes are wild, pure panic overtaking the normally clear, azure blue.

“Steve,” Tony exclaims without thinking, trying to grab him and hold him back from doing something stupid. Steve struggles wildly in his arms, blindly lashing out with his arms and hitting Tony straight in the face, knocking him down. Blood spurts from his nose, though Tony pays that no mind, focused on Steve who’s lunging at the nearest agent.

“Wait!” the main one shouts, holding up what looks like a remote control. “Take another step and the ballroom blows up.”   
  
Steve freezes. 

“I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t think it would _ get _ to this point,” he continues, shaking it lightly. “But I’ll pull the trigger if you don’t come with me, Stark. Even _ you _ can’t risk everyone’s life for your own like that, can you?”   
  
Tony can’t. There’s no way. The lives of innocents matter more than his reputation among the Avengers. He sniffs, wiping at the blood streaming out of his nose. Several drops have stained his once-pristine white shirt. A thick, sticky, iron tang sits on his tongue. “I’ll come with you.” He pushes himself up and steps forward until he’s right in front of them.

The man leers, looking behind Tony. “You, too, Captain.” Well, that just made things more complicated.  
  
Steve’s gaze is dark, hidden. Tony can’t tell what he’s thinking, but Steve doesn’t hesitate before stepping forward. He’s pushed to the ground, hands held behind his back. One of the agents procures a heavy set of manacles, harsh in comparison to the rope they’re using for Tony. Another one injects a syringe into Steve’s neck. Clint makes a sound of protest, but Natasha quickly shushes him. 

Tony frowns, squinting his eyes. The liquid is clear, which tells him absolutely nothing. His best guess is that it’s something to suppress the effects of the serum, though that brings up the question of why they were prepared for something like that. Had they been _ planning _on taking Steve as well? Maya hadn’t mentioned anything about Steve, but maybe she hadn’t known?

And why would they take Steve? He gets himself, it’s his scientific knowledge, but Steve—? 

Oh. 

_ Oh _. Because of the serum. It would most likely help with research on Extremis, seeing as how Steve is the only viable, fully successful specimen of a serum-enhanced individual. 

Steve doesn’t look at Tony at all as he stares straight ahead, jaw clenched. “I’m coming with you, but you won’t get away with this. Now let Iron Man go.”

The man taps the remote control against his mouth, thinking. He grins and says, “Nah, we could probably use him.” 

Tony doesn’t turn to look back at the Avengers, but he’s sure they all look stricken at that, losing two members in one go. He doesn’t matter, of course. They probably think it’s a good riddance. And the thing is, he doesn’t blame them, not at all.

Steve looks as though he wants to argue, but mercifully he keeps his mouth shut. 

As the rest of the men haul the empty armor up and pass by the two of them, Steve whispers, “I’ll get you out, Shellhead. I promise.”

There’s no response, and Steve’s face falls, blue eyes unnaturally shiny in the dim light. Tony feels a physical ache in his chest, a knot of tissues and sinew getting tighter with each passing second. Tony has never wanted to kiss Steve more, to hold him, to tell him it will all be okay, but he doesn’t have that right. He never has, and he never will. 

Instead, he holds his head up high and doesn’t look at the Avengers as they walk past, feeling the heat of their stares burning into the side of his head. He doesn’t show any outward emotion, though, walking behind Steve, hands once again tied behind his back. 

The group leads them to a side exit, shoving both Steve and Tony through the door and out into the dark parking lot. A nondescript white van is parked outside, and the two of them are pushed into the back. The Iron Man armor is thrown in after them, and Steve seems ready to protest at the rough treatment. 

When the men close the doors, leaving them in darkness, Steve finally speaks. “Shellhead, you there?”  
  
There’s no way JARVIS should be able to respond, since the suit is offline. Silence meets them, and Steve’s face crumples, before smoothing out into an impassive stare. It’s almost as good as Tony’s own masks. “Shellhead, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what— _ Stark _ did.”   
  
Tony hadn’t realized how much he got used to Steve calling him by his first name, until just now. Hearing “Stark” rip out of Steve’s throat like the bitterest of venoms makes the skin around his arc reactor ache. 

The two of them sit on opposite ends, facing each other. Steve turns his head so that he’s looking away from Tony, gaze focused on the armor.

Tony’s face is itching, drying blood crusted on his goatee, but his hands are still tied behind his back. His nose aches like hell, and Tony’s pretty certain it’s been bruised, if not entirely broken. He easily undoes the rope and rubs at his cheek, trying to get rid of the itch. Steve’s head is still turned away from Tony, but he can see Steve gazing at him from the corner of his eye. “What, you want to learn, too? I’m not escaping just yet.” And then he ties his hands back as well as he can do by himself. 

Steve doesn’t say anything at that, which makes Tony nervous even if he’s not surprised, and when he gets nervous, he tends to ramble. “What? Suddenly you’ve decided you don’t want to talk to me? That’s not what you were doing just earlier today.”  
  
Steve snaps his head to the side, facing Tony straight on, eyes blazing with blue fury. “I have nothing to say to you, liar,” he hisses.

“Woah,” Tony says, pretending to be taken aback, “I never once lied to you. I never once pretended I was anything more than I was. In fact, I _ told _ you I’m not a good person. Thinking I was, anyway? Feeling betrayed? That’s on you.” And the thing is, it’s all true. Tony _ tried _to dissuade Steve from getting attached to him, because he wouldn’t be as hurt when things came to a head, but Steve didn’t fucking listen, because he never fucking does, and now they’re stuck in this stupid fucking situation together because Steve fucking Rogers can’t seem to sit still. 

Steve flinches as if struck. Pale moonlight filters in through the windows, shining on him and casting an ethereal glow on his face. His eyes look haunted, heavy with emotion. His normally clear blue irises are dark and stormy.

Seeing the consequence of what he’s said and done makes Tony’s breath catch in his throat. He bites his lip, waiting for Steve’s response. 

“You’re right,” Steve chokes out eventually, staring down at his tied hands. “I shouldn’t have trusted you. That was my mistake. But that doesn’t—that doesn’t excuse you,” he says, getting louder with every word. “You’re a horrible, despicable human being. Selfishly giving up your own _ bodyguard’s _ life like that? The man who swore to protect you, to keep you safe? How dare you? How dare you—you play with his life like that, decide that he’s not worth caring about?”   
  
And then, with an ugly, bitter tone, not at all sounding like the Steve Rogers Tony has fallen in love with, he scoffs and laughs. “I guess you wouldn’t realize that, seeing as how no one loves you. And for good reason.”

Tony blinks at that. He can feel tears stinging at his eyes, and he curses. Damn Steve for making him cry, especially when Tony can’t blame him for his words. He _ wanted _this. He asked for it. Steve’s response is only logical. But it still hurts, rubbing at the raw wounds where his arc reactor lies. 

He nods, trying to hide his sudden burst of emotion. It’s dark enough that Steve won’t notice the tears. He hopes, at least. “Well, Cap,” he says with as much lightness as he can muster, and certain that he failed, “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. We can’t all be as perfect as you.”

“I’m not perfect,” is Steve’s only response, quick like lightning, and Tony falls silent, because that’s—so _ wrong _ . Steve is better than Tony in every which way. He _ is _perfect, objectively. He’s good, and pure, and has the moral drive that Tony lacks. Dad spent enough time beating that into Tony’s head, and though he spent most of his formative years resenting Steve he sees now what Dad meant.

Steve is—he’s magnetic. He draws everyone in simply by being himself—kind and generous, determined and persevering. Not at all like Tony, who has to rip out parts of his heart just to survive. And no matter what, Tony will always be attracted to Steve, because they’re polar opposites. Steve’s good, and Tony’s—not. He just isn’t. 

They don’t speak to each other—they don’t even look at each other—for the rest of the drive.

The drive takes longer than Tony expected. Several days, actually, and Tony stops bothering to count after the first day. The entire time, Steve remains steadfastly silent, as still and pale as marble, and Tony for once, accepts his boundaries, staying quiet himself. 

With how long it takes for them to drive across the country, Tony has ample time to come up with a plan. Considering the radio silence from the Avengers, Tony’s betting on the fact that they’ve been kept compliant because AIM has been threatening their hostages, and after what happened to Happy, no one wants to push it. With Captain America and Iron Man out of action, Natasha is next in charge, and she’s not the type to act recklessly, especially when it comes to her team. She probably decided it’s safer for Steve and Tony if they don’t outwardly interfere. 

He has no idea whether Maya will come for him now, either. He has multiple armors on standby, because he’s not an idiot, but with the Avengers involved it’s going to be harder for her to go out on her own, since they think Iron Man is with AIM. So that leaves it up to Tony to handle escaping. He doesn’t mind. He’s done it before.

He doesn’t expect it will be difficult to escape—a few explosives here and there and he just has to make a run for it—maybe grab the armor on the way, if it hasn’t self-destructed by then. The hardest factor will be Steve, because who knows if he’ll be willing to work with Tony, but there’s no way he’s leaving Steve on his own with these sharks.

He hasn’t seen the armor since they arrived. It was quickly whisked away, probably for them to try and open it. Tony gets a small grin at the thought. They’re going to get a rude awakening.

Steve and Tony are led to a small, cell-like room. It’s dark and musty, which makes sense considering it’s a basement. Tony is shoved inside, but just as he turns, he sees Steve being led away. Steve doesn’t even protest, which is so unlike him.

“Hey!” he shouts hoarsely. His throat feels like sandpaper. They were barely given food and water during the trip. Tony pushes himself up and stumbles as he runs over to the entrance. “Where are you taking him?”  
  
“That’s none of your business, Stark,” one of the agents snaps. “I didn’t think you cared.”   
  
Steve’s downturned gaze flickers up at that. Tony gives him a glance, and their eyes meet. Tony forcibly looks away before he can get lost in those blue, _ blue _ , ocean eyes. “I don’t,” he says, swallowing roughly, and it’s the most painful lie he’s ever told, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what the hell you’re planning on doing with him.”   
  
The agent cracks a grin. “You’ll find out soon enough. No worries about that.”

The door slams shut, and Tony is left in the dark, shadows enveloping the room. He sighs and sits down, back against the wall. That changes things, slightly.

He’s not going to escape right away since the entire reason he’s here is because he needs intel, but he is on a bit of a time crunch what with Steve most likely being experimented on. Tony is _ not _ going to let him be hurt more than he already has been. Steve’s been through _ so _ much, and still manages to remain good. Tony’s not going to let anyone taint that (never mind the fact that it’s all he ever does).

They’ll probably give him access to a lab, but it will be harder for Tony to do anything secretly since he’ll probably be watched closely. The running idea is to cause several explosions as a diversion, and then escape—_ maybe _with the armor, if that’s manageable. The initial plan was to wait for Maya to come in so they could capture Killian, shut down his entire operation, and have everything cleared up. That might not happen now, depending. He’ll probably have to retreat back to the tower, and shut it down with the Avengers.

His thoughts stray after a while, mind foggy. Despite his determination to stay awake, his exhaustion from everything eventually catches up and he finds himself dozing off. 

It doesn’t feel like he’s gotten any sleep before the door slams open, startling him awake, and Aldrich Killian strides in, smirk firmly in place. 

Tony has only met Aldrich Killian twice, and he barely remembers the first time, to be honest. He was drunk and Killian was being annoying, bothering Maya and him when it was clear they didn’t want to talk to him. And it was to talk business, of all things. As if Tony was at a New Year’s party—not only that, but a New Year’s party to welcome a new millennium—to speak about joint ventures. Why it didn’t occur to Killian to schedule an appointment is beyond Tony.

And, okay, Tony won’t deny that he had been a bit of a dick—he’s well aware of the kind of person he used to be, still is, if he’s honest—but really, Killian had been pushy, disturbingly so, and Tony had done the only thing he could think of to get rid of him before he did something stupid. It was the same tactic he had used with people that felt because he was a playboy they were entitled to hit on him despite his clear disinterest.

Never mind that now, because apparently Killian had gone insane enough to do all this. Tony had been right to avoid him. 

“How the mighty have fallen,” Killian says, still grinning at him. He looks the same as the second time he approached Tony, though incredibly different from what Tony remembers of the first time. More… plastic. Perfect, in a way that only serves to make Tony uncomfortable. His perfection is manufactured, created, not like Steve who was beautiful inside and out even before the serum.

He thinks he preferred the way Killian looked before, because at least that was _ him _—well, he doesn’t actually know just how real Killian was back then, if Tony’s stupid prank pushed him over the edge or if he was planning this even back then, but if he wasn’t, and was insecure about his looks… It makes sense, he supposes. 

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Tony says, getting up and facing him head on. He refuses to be intimidated by whatever power trip Killian will try to pull on him. 

Killian laughs softly. “Stop pretending you have any control over this, Tony.” He spreads his arms wide. “You remember me? Nah, you probably don’t. Not even the meeting we had a few weeks ago. But I do,” he says, voice suddenly low and dangerous, “I remember everything. I remember the humiliation and betrayal I felt knowing that the man I had looked up to was just another rich, selfish asshole looking for the next slut to stick his dick in.”  
  
Tony doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show any outward emotion, but inside he’s roiling. God, he doesn’t really—the mask he has is carefully cultivated, and normally he can handle what people think of him, but standing here, faced with his mistakes, he can’t help but feel the guilt rise up and tighten his core, push against the arc reactor. Maybe if he hadn’t done that—then maybe Killian—no, he can’t think that. No one knows what would have happened otherwise. Killian could have went on the same path even with Tony around, and then it still would have been Tony’s fault. 

But seeing everything here that’s happened because of Tony, seeing the product of his cruelty all those years ago, it _ does _sting. It hurts a lot, actually, tears at the sinew and bone in his chest and leaves a burning, gaping hole behind.

He can’t let that affect him, though. It’s probably what Killian wants, isn’t it? Maybe that’s all this is—a ploy to manipulate Tony by making him feel guilty for hurting Killian. Maybe it _ didn’t _hurt Killian, and he made all that up. 

He’ll never know for certain, though, and he’s not the kind of person to not take responsibility for his actions—everyone else thinks he is, but Tony _ isn’t _. He’s well aware of his past and what he’s done. He’s well aware of all his faults and flaws (and there are too many to list). He’s well aware of what people think of him and why they do. 

One of Tony’s biggest regrets in life is letting his company lose accountability over his weapons, over the people they killed. Killian’s doing the same thing by weaponizing _ people _ . Hurt, scared, disabled, _ traumatized _people. Tony could have prevented what was going on with his weapons long before they had the chance to hurt anybody. He could have prevented Killian from hurting people before he even started.

And that makes Killian—and everyone he has hurt and manipulated over the past decade—his responsibility. 

“What I did to you years ago didn’t mean it was suddenly okay for you to do all this.” Tony makes a sweeping gesture. “To hurt all these people.”

“Hurt people,” Killian repeats, “like you? Don’t think I don’t know about what your weapons have done. Hell, you were willing to let your bodyguard die just two hours ago. Don’t pretend you have the moral upper hand here.”

Tony is just barely able to conceal his flinch. “Iron Man and I both agreed that for my safety to let him go. It’s pure reason, not—selfishness.” It really is, but obviously he’s not going to say that to Killian. “And I stopped weapons development the moment I discovered the truth.” Not literally, of course, he was on vacation for three months before hand. 

“Sure,” Killian says, clearly not believing him. “Well, that’s not all I wanted to talk to you about.”  
  
“What are you doing with Rogers?” Tony interrupts, getting to the point.

Killian leers as he places his hands into his pants pockets, thumbs poking out. “I was waiting for you to ask. You know, I didn’t think you were that close. You’re not that kind of guy. _ He’s _ definitely not.” He tilts his head, thinking. “Though, I can see him being repressed and in the closet.” He grins, looking Tony up and down. “You help him through that, or something? Got a little… fuckbuddy type situation going on? Lend a hand when he needs it?”   
  
It’s disturbing how close to the truth he’s gotten while mostly joking. Tony’s body is stiff, arms locked against his sides, as he says, “No. We’re just work acquaintances who happen to live in the same building.”

“Hm,” Killian says. He doesn’t seem to believe that either. “Surprising. He’s just your type.”  
  
Again, creepy that Killian knows that. Granted, most of his exploits have been printed for the entire world to see, with or without his permission. He supposes if someone spent enough time searching it would be easy enough to see the type of person Tony goes for. 

“Whatever, Killian,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. He’s not in the mood for games. “What the hell are you doing with him?”

“Just a little experimentation.” Killian’s eyes light up. “You’re going to help us with that, actually. See, my prized scientist decided she had enough of me and ran off, but luckily she had mentioned some time before that you were the only other person who knew how to crack Extremis. So, here you are!” Killian lifts his hands, palms up, gesturing towards Tony. 

“Extremis?” Tony asks, pretending he has no clue what Killian is talking about just so he can get him to explain it.

Killian rolls his eyes. “Don’t play stupid, Tony. I know Maya was showing you what it was that night in Bern.”  
  
“I was half-drunk, Killian, you expect me to remember?” Tony snaps. He’s getting tired of Killian’s smarmy attitude. 

Killian heaves a long, put-upon sigh, as though Tony is asking him to explain rocket science. “You know what—” he grabs Tony’s shoulder suddenly, grip tight like iron, half-pulling him to the entrance of the basement and ignoring Tony’s protests, “—it’ll just be easier to show you.”

Tony really doesn’t think he’ll have an issue escaping. Extremis is known to blow up due to being unstable, and now Killian is giving him access to it? Idiot. 

He’s not going to complain, though. It makes his life hell of a lot easier now that his initial plan was ruined. 

He’s taken to a clean-looking lab with some people already in it. At first glance, Tony think they’re scientists working for Killian, but a closer look makes him realize that they’re kids, really. Interns, most likely. They’re all working on their own things, though they look up when the two of them enter. He takes a look around, trying to see if he can spot any cameras. He’s certain there are bugs in the room.

Killian shoves Tony to one of the lab tables. “Where the hell is Roberts?” he asks one of them.

“I don’t know,” the brown-haired boy says. “He said there was an incident in one of the other labs.”

Killian lets out an aggravated sigh. “Fine. I’m getting Roberts. And for god’s sake, keep an eye on him before he blows us all up.” 

Okay, so maybe he’s slightly aware. That’s still okay. Tony doesn’t think he’ll have trouble manipulating underpaid interns to look the other way while he does his thing. As long as they won’t get into trouble with Killian, because Tony has no doubt they’re being used for AIM’s gain. 

Tony kind of wonders why Killian would trust him with a bunch of interns anyway, because there’s no doubt that the interns would sell him out at the smallest opportunity. But the guy’s crazy. Maybe he thinks he scared the kids into total submission, or that Tony would sooner cut off a limb than to talk to a bunch of kids. He certainly seems to get the impression that Tony is a stuck-up, narcissistic dick. Tony supposes he hasn’t really helped in that regard, too focused on making sure no one would ever come to the conclusion that he was Iron Man. 

Tony’s hands are still tied when the interns finally look away from Killian and turn to him. He grins, slightly sheepishly, and holds his hands up. “Help?” he asks.

One of the kids, the blonde one, silently steps forward and undoes the knot after taking a few minutes to figure it out. Tony rubs his wrists after, smiling at her. “Thanks,” he says. “What’re your guys’ names?”

“Gwen,” the blonde one who helped Tony says. 

The younger one, a teen with brown hair, introduces himself as, “Peter.”

“Okay. Nice to meet you both.” Tony’s not going to bother pretending to be someone he’s not with them. The situation just doesn’t call for it, and, well, he’s always had a soft spot for young people. He just can’t bring it in himself to be mean to them.

Peter shifts uneasily. “You have blood on your face, by the way.”  
  
Oh, right. Tony had forgotten. He’d been so distracted by everything else he hadn’t even noticed the pain of his broken nose. At least he doesn’t sound too nasal when he speaks. He touches it lightly, and removes his finger at the flare of pain. “Yeah, I know, but there’s not much I can do about it right now besides wipe the blood off. Anyone have a tissue?” 

Gwen grabs a cloth from a side counter, handing it to him after she wets it, and Tony tries his best to wipe off the blood without irritating his nose. “So, how did you all get here? Where is here, by the way? I totally wasn’t brought here against my will.”

They glance at each other uneasily. “California,” Peter answers. 

California. Huh. Tony hasn’t stepped foot here in years, though his house is still around. “As for why you’re working here? AIM, I mean. They’re not exactly… I don’t know what you know about it.”  
  
“Peter and I were offered summer internships after we left Oscorp,” Gwen explains. 

Oscorp. Another company he doesn’t trust, and its main headquarters are in New York. “Aren’t you a high school student?” he asks Peter. “You look way too young to be in college.” 

Peter rubs a hand behind his neck sheepishly. “Yeah. I wanted to start early.”  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Tony says nonchalantly, barely paying attention to what he’s saying as he looks around trying to catch any cameras. “That’s good. It’s good to start early. Where are you from?” 

“Queens.”  
  
“Hm. California is a long way from New York.” Tony walks around the lab, trying to look for any places where there’s a camera or possible a bug. He spots a small black dome in one of the corners, so he tilts his head towards it the slightest bit. “That a camera?”

“Yeah,” Gwen says. “Sounds are not recorded, though.”  
  
“Seems like an oversight on their parts.” There’s one other camera on the opposite end of the ceiling. Tony stops strolling around the room, satisfied that he’s found all the cameras, and turns to face the two of them. “Okay. Show me what to do.”   
  
He really doesn’t need to be shown anything, having already figured out how to access all the information he needs for Extremis, but he humors the kids because he’s sure they’re terrified just standing there, and so that it looks like they’re doing something to whoever’s watching. “I need your help,” he says as Peter helps him log onto the computer. “Nothing that will risk your lives or anything. I just need to stop Killian, and to do that I’ll need to gain contact with the Avengers.” 

He’s certain they’re already planning something. If they thought to consult Maya, then she’s probably told them about this base. But he can’t exactly rely on that possibility. For all he knows, they’ll just leave him here. 

They both look unsure. “I swear, no harm will come upon you guys. Hell, I’ll offer you internships at Stark Industries. I guarantee they’ll be a lot better. No experimenting on people, for one. And, Peter, I’ll write you a recommendation for college. Whichever one is your top choice. Or, you know, I’ll just use my influence to get you in. It’s not a problem.”  
  
“You don’t need to do that, Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaims, eyes wide. “Please. Just—” He bites his lip, looks at Gwen, “—I don’t know. Mr. Killian scares us. He’s… weird.”

Tony lets out a slightly bitter laugh. “Yeah, I’m aware. And if you guys don’t want to help me, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You’re still getting the internships, though. You guys deserve better.” He doesn’t get to say much more than that before the door slams open behind them.

“What happened while I was gone?” the man asks as he enters. He must be the Roberts Killian was talking about. 

“Nothing, sir,” Gwen squeaks. “We were just showing Mr. Stark how to use the computers.”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Roberts says dismissively. He pushes his way in between Peter and Tony. “That will be enough. I can take over from now. Stark, I don’t know what they told you, but I’m going to be handling you from now on, so just ignore them.”  
  
Tony frowns, keeping his mouth shut although he wants to defend the kiddos. That will probably just get them into a worse situation and his priority is keeping them safe while also getting what he needs from this place. And, of course, making sure Steve’s alright. Tony bites his lip thinking of all the horrible things that could be happening to him. “Alright,” he says agreeably enough.   
  
Roberts shows him around the lab, patronizingly explaining every single machine and tool they have despite the fact that Tony has higher-quality versions of the same things back in the tower. He doesn’t say anything, though, wanting to stay on their good side for the time being. He’s able to be subtle and diplomatic when the time calls for it. 

And finally, Roberts delves into Extremis and the reason why Tony was taken in the first place. For him to finish up the formula, since it’s currently unstable and blowing up random members. Like Killian said, Tony’s the only other person who’s cracked Extremis besides Maya (though it was literally just an equation he came up with on the spot while drunk out of his mind) and they want him to finish what he started years ago.

Tony’s not going to do that, obviously. Instead, he’s going to steal a sample and bring it back to his own lab for analysis. Maya had already told him that although she’s incredibly smart and intelligent (which she is, much more gifted than Tony) she couldn’t remember the exact formula enough to recreate it, and Killian had blocked her access to any files on it. 

He does whatever Roberts tells him without arguing even a little bit, realizing that this is not the time and place. Eventually, some burly men walk into the room, interrupting their reverie. “Killian says his time is up,” one of them says gruffly. “It’s getting late.”

Tony doesn’t hesitate, going over to them and letting them handcuff him. The interns watch him as he leaves, and he winks at them, letting them know that he’s okay. He hopes he’ll see them again, if only because that way he’ll know that nothing bad has happened to them.

The men lead him back to the cell, shoving him inside and slamming the door shut. Tony sighs and leans back against the wall, slowly lowering himself down without the leverage of his arms. He wonders why Killian is making him take a break instead of overworking him. It seems strange that he would call a halt to Tony’s work when they’re just getting started. A trial, maybe? Possibly he just wanted to see how Tony would do on his first day. If he would follow orders or just cause trouble. Or maybe he really is concerned about Tony getting sleep for some reason, who knows with him.

Well, it doesn’t matter that much now. As long as he gets access to Extremis sooner rather than later, because Tony wants to get this done and over with before anyone else gets hurt. He has enough blood on his hands. 

He stands up and starts walking around the room, scoping it out. Trying to see if there’s any bugs or cameras. He doesn’t find anything suspicious and eventually sits back down. 

Tony isn’t sure how much time passes, locked inside of the dark cell, but eventually the doors open again and a large body is thrown in. Tony catches a glimpse of golden hair, bright like sunshine, as the light filtering in shines on it, before they’re enclosed in darkness again. “Steve?” he whispers, shuffling over to the prone figure. His heart leaps in his throat, beating rapidly. He can hear blood rushing in his ears, and he’s almost afraid to check, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if—_ that _—happens. He can’t even bear the thought, so if it’s reality— “Steve?” he tries again, reaching out with his cuffed hands and attempting to brush what Tony thinks is his shoulder.

Steve moans, and he pushes himself up. It’s dark, but not so much that Tony can’t see Steve and the condition he’s in. “Oh my god,” Tony whispers to himself in relief. “Oh my god. You’re alive. You’re okay.” 

He runs his gaze over Steve’s body, making note of every laceration just to make sure Steve is okay—certainly not because he’s going to leave a mark on Killian for every one on Steve tenfold. He’s shirtless, only dressed in flimsy scrub pants. Tony can see red pinpricks as well as small cuts. “T—Stark?” Steve mumbles.

“What did they do to you?” Tony demands, not even bothering to hide the worry from his voice. “Did they hurt you? Are you okay?”  
  
“Stark, slow down,” Steve says, groaning as he rubs at his forehead, smearing blood on it. Tony’s gaze is drawn to the movement, and he feels nauseous just looking at it. It’s a reminder of Steve getting stuck in this situation because of Tony.

Tony reaches forward and brushes at some of the blood on Steve’s face. “How badly hurt are you?” Steve’s skin is soft under the pad of his thumb, but colder than it should be.  
  
“Not badly,” Steve says. “They just poked me a few times and injected me with stuff.”   
  
“They what?” Tony asks sharply. “What kind of stuff? Didn’t they already inject you with something?”   
  
“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, “they did.” Tony drops his gaze for a moment, not sure what to say to that. He catches sight of a small cut on Steve’s bicep, bleeding sluggishly, and he frowns, narrowing his eyes. 

“How long ago did you get that cut?” Tony asks, pointing at it. 

Steve’s gaze follows his, and he frowns. “Uh, thirty minutes ago, I think.”  
  
“Thirty minutes?” Tony repeats, blinking up at him. Just what he suspected.

“Yeah,” Steve says, nodding. Tony can see the moment that the realization hits him, because he freezes, eyes wide, as he stares at Tony. “That shouldn’t be happening. That’s not right.”  
  
“No,” Tony agrees softly. “I had a feeling that’s what they were trying to do. Block the serum, somehow.”   
  
“Block the—what’s going to happen to me?” Steve demands.

Tony holds up his hands before Steve freaks out anymore. “Nothing much. I’m pretty sure it’s temporary. They’re probably basing it off of Extremis, which is kind of like the serum you have, and they want me to stabilize the formula for them, so they’re definitely not able to do it themselves just yet.”  
  
“Oh,” Steve says, breathing out heavily. “That’s—that’s a relief. If I lost the serum—I don’t know what I would do.”   
  
Tony frowns at that. “You know you’re more than the serum, right? It doesn’t make you. You make _ it _ .”   
  
Steve scowls at that, turning his head away from Tony. “Don’t. Just—don’t. Not now.”   
  
Tony realizes that it’s probably not appreciated from him, considering the shit he’s said in their arguments. _ Everything special about you came from a bottle _. Jesus, had he really said that? Sure, he was playing a role, but a part of him had genuinely been trying to hurt Steve with those pointed words. He supposes it’s too late to take them back now. “You know, I was thinking of an escape plan,” he says instead.

Steve’s frown only grows deeper. “No. I don’t want to hear it.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Tony asks. “I’m trying to include you in the planning process—”   
  
“It will be better if I don’t know. That way they can’t, I don’t know, torture it out of me or something. Besides, they’re probably listening to us right now.”   
  
Tony can’t help the wince, though Steve has a point. “Don’t say that. Please. I don’t want to imagine—” He stops, takes a deep breath. “Why are you talking to me, anyway?”

Steve stares at him. In the dim light, his eyes are dark and unreadable. He looks—dead, in a way, and Tony can’t help the guilt that beats at his chest. _ He _did that. He’s the reason Steve looks so broken, because—he betrayed him, he hurt him, and that’s all he can ever do, hurt Steve over and over and over. He doesn’t deserve him. Not at all.

“I don’t know,” Steve says eventually. “I just don’t know anything anymore.”  
  
Hesitantly, Tony says, “You know, it was part of the plan.” When Steve looks at him, he continues, “Letting Iron Man go. He was supposed to do that all along. And then—he would stop them from the inside. I know I didn’t tell you. I thought—you would ruin it somehow.” He rubs his neck, ducking his head. “Yeah. I know. I just—I know what it looked like, but I do actually care about Iron Man, despite what he may tell you.” It isn’t lost on Tony that their roles have been switched, that he’s now the one desperately trying to make contact while Steve coldly rebukes his attempts.   
  
There is silence for a long while. Steve stares at him with that same unreadable expression. “Okay,” he says. “I don’t—I don’t believe you just yet. But thanks for telling me.” 

Tony lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. That’s more than he expected. He had thought Steve would flat out refuse what he said, not even consider it. But the thanks? Maybe they’re getting somewhere.

Tony’s not going to wait more than he has to to escape. Screw the intel. He already knows what Killian’s plan is, how to work Extremis, and as long as he escapes the sooner he can shut things down instead of risking another atrocity. 

He’s already got a plan in mind. He just needs to keep the scientists’ watchful eyes off of him, which is where the kids come in. He can’t talk to them for obvious reasons, but he’s going to try his best to signal to them to distract the scientists while he does what he needs to. He really lucked out having them there. Tony’s going to repay them in any way possible for everything.

Steve was taken away just before Tony was dragged into the lab from the day before. He isn’t certain, but he thinks Steve is in a room nearby, which makes things easier because Tony will need to grab him before making a run for it. Hopefully, they won’t hurt Steve too much. 

He already knows that’s unlikely.

When he arrives in the lab, he’s provided with blood and skin samples. Tony doesn’t ask whose they are. He has a feeling he knows the answer. Instead, he calmly takes the samples and resolves to destroy everyone here. 

They want him to run tests on them to extract the serum so that he can study it and engineer a stable version of Extremis. They also provide him with a vial of Extremis, which is just plain stupid. Killian is _ really _ underestimating him. Tony supposes his drunken playboy persona is useful for one thing, and that’s the fact that people think he’s not nearly as intelligent and capable as he really is. Kind of ironic, considering the reason he was taken was _ because _of his intelligence.

“Just do what you need to to stabilize Extremis. I’m going to be keeping an eye on you, so don’t try anything funny. I’m not an idiot. I can tell the difference between a serum and a bomb.”  
  
Tony inwardly rolls his eyes. _ Extremis _ is _ a bomb, _ he thinks, and just to be spiteful, adds, _ idiot _. 

Initially, Tony was planning on forming a chemical bomb, but it’s very early into the day that he realizes by manipulating the sample of Extremis he can use it as a bomb. And it would be much more subtly done than throwing a bunch of reactants together.

Currently he’s comparing the two samples—one of Extremis, and one of the supersoldier serum which he extracted from Steve’s blood, which he tries not to think about. Tony’s not as good with biochemistry as with other sciences like physics, but his definition of good is much, much different from someone else’s, so he has no problem adapting. 

The base compound is pretty much the same, but in comparison to Extremis the supersoldier serum is relatively simple. Extremis is much larger because of its powers, and something in there is responsible for the instability due to being incomplete. 

It’s not long before Tony figures out where they went wrong—he is a genius, after all. Of course, he used Maya’s notes which helped him along the way, otherwise it would have taken much longer for him to crack it. She was close to doing it herself, probably would have been able to figure it out if she had more time. He stays silent on his discovery, surreptitiously writing a note for himself with the finalized formula. He slips the note into his pocket and turns back to his work.

Peter and Gwen are quietly working on their own thing. They’re given menial jobs such as cleaning up the lab and bringing coffees, but it keeps them busy. Tony manages to catch their attention for a second when they’re nice enough to bring him coffee despite technically being a prisoner. He taps Morse code on the coffee cup as Peter hands it to him, hoping that he at least catches what Tony’s doing, if not understanding it.

Peter’s gaze is drawn to Tony’s thumb for a second, and then he flickers it back up to look at Tony, who nods minutely. Peter doesn’t say anything but he steps away with a determined look in his eyes, and for the first time in a long while Tony starts to feel hope.

Halfway through, Steve is brought in on a gurney. Tony’s hands clench into fists where no one can see when he realizes Steve has been strapped down. “What the hell is this for?” he demands.

Roberts glances down at Steve, who looks lucid enough to glare at him. “He’s your test subject, now. The scientists were curious to see how Extremis would work on someone who’s already enhanced.”  
  
The floor falls out from under Tony’s feet. He has to lean heavily against the worktable to keep his balance. Would they even know how it would interfere with the serum? Of course they didn’t consider that, because everyone here is incompetent save for Maya, unless—they had been suppressing the serum, hadn’t they? They figured out a way to do that, and Tony knows they did, because he has the files up on one of the monitors.

But then, the serum’s _ effects _are being suppressed, not the serum itself, meaning it could still wreak havoc in his body depending on how they react. The way the supersoldier serum works is as a regulator of gene expression. It controls what genes are on, and which ones are off—and it turned off all the genes that would be a detriment to Steve. Currently, the receptors for the drug are inhibited by whatever they injected Steve with, preventing the serum from working properly. If it’s inhibited long enough, Steve will slowly lose his muscle mass and strength, possibly his youth, as well. That doesn’t account for Extremis, of course, though Tony plans on getting him out of here before it gets to that point.

Tony’s almost certain that the suppressant is temporary, because they’ve injected him several times already, but with the serum not working at full capacity, who knows how long it will take for the suppressant to be completely flushed out of his bloodstream.

With that in mind, Tony throws himself into his work with a fervor. What he wants to do is manipulate the sample of pure Extremis to blow up as a distraction, leading everyone to this location while the four of them run off to the exit. But to do that, he’s going to have to knock out Roberts—and that will be caught on camera. He has no idea if someone is actively watching the feed, but he’s running with the assumption that someone is just to be on the safe side.

Tony can definitely hack the system to show a loop on the feed where they’re all silently working with little movement—it’s still running a risk because there may be a glaring jump between frames but Tony has no other choice—but with Roberts breathing down his neck that’s going to be difficult.

Which is where Gwen and Peter come in. They need to distract Roberts so that Tony can actually work on covering up the camera feed, so the next time Peter comes over to hand a cup of coffee he nods at him. Peter doesn’t respond, just like last time, but within the next five minutes, he manages to knock over a large container of a nonvolatile, nontoxic chemical. “Oh, oops!” he exclaims, looking at Roberts with fearful eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m just—I’m clumsy.”

Roberts busies himself with berating Peter—and Gwen for added measure—and Tony quickly accesses the camera feed—AIM really needs to invest in better security, Tony got in on his third try—and starts working at looping the camera feeds, careful to make sure all the hallways are empty. Once Roberts stops shouting at them and stands aside with a huff, the kids sitting down far away, he works on the feed of their lab. It’s not entirely seamless, but it’ll do for at least five minutes, which is really all the time he needs.

When Roberts comes by to see what he’s doing, Tony looks up at him innocently. “What?” he says, gesturing to the various simulations he’s running. “I’m working here.”  
  
“I can see that,” Roberts says, raising an eyebrow, but it seems his suspicions have been raised because he keeps a closer eye on Tony, which is fine. 

Tony doesn’t expect Peter or Gwen to know how to fight, so knocking out Roberts will be up to him. The next time Roberts turns his back to snap at one of the interns, Tony quickly lunges at him, throwing him into a headlock and squeezing tightly. The man struggles, but he’s clearly not a fighter because his attempts are weak, and within a minute he passes out. 

Tony drags him into a closet, locking it shut from the outside, and then turns to Steve, undoing the straps around his limbs. “We don’t have a lot of time,” Tony says to the three of them, “I manipulated Extremis so that it’ll blow up in this form in about—three minutes, I think. I don’t know. I’m running on a simulation so let’s hope it’s not in the next ten seconds. You know the way out of here?”  
  
“Yeah,” Gwen says, “we’ll have to be careful, though. There’s probably a ton of people who will see you.”

“Right, okay, well, we’re working with what we can.” He frees Steve, and quickly checks the vial, which is destabilizing rapidly. It might not be three minutes, considering Tony can already feel heat radiating from that little thing. “Okay, let’s go. Steve, you need help?” he asks, throwing Steve’s arm over his shoulder as he attempts to slide off the gurney.  
  
“I’m fine,” Steve snaps, and stumbles, so Tony wraps the arm tighter around him and follows Peter and Gwen’s lead. The hallway is thankfully empty as they slip out, but there’s no time for stealth, because about a minute after they leave the lab, there’s a resounding boom coming from behind them, and the ceiling and walls crumble. That’s their cue. A few minutes after that, shouting starts up, the agents clearly realizing their prisoners have escaped. 

In the resulting chaos, the four of them make a mad dash for escape, Peter and Gwen leading them down twisting halls. Steve seems to have found some of his strength back—though that’s probably just the adrenaline—because he can run on his own now. 

Several times they run into a few agents who happened to be rushing past or leaving a room, but they don’t bother trying to fight. The faster they reach the exit, the higher chance they’ll have of escaping.

People have clearly caught on and are shooting guns and blasters behind them. Whenever someone attacks them from ahead, Steve pushes them aside. Tony can feel heat licking at his heels, but doesn’t turn around. He has a feeling the Extremis-enhanced soldiers have caught up to them, and he manages to find a last, desperate burst of energy despite his burning lungs. “How much longer?” he asks. 

“Almost there,” Gwen promises. “Just turn there and—oh!” She abruptly comes to a stop before the exit, which is blocked off by three guards. Behind them, a group of soldiers corner in, trapping them in between the two parties. 

“Shit,” Tony says, getting closer to the three of them as they form a circle. Their stances are wide, ready to fight at any moment. “That’s a bad word,” he tells Peter, “don’t repeat it.”  
  
“I know what a bad word is, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “I’m not five.”   
  
“Could’ve fooled me,” Steve quips, and if they were in any other situation Tony would have turned to look at him in surprise, because Steve’s usually not the type for mid-battle jokes. At least, not when he isn’t with Iron Man. 

“Nice try,” one of the soldiers says, sauntering over to them. His voice is smug with his perceived victory. “You almost escaped. Key word being ‘almost.’ And dragging in a bunch of kids with you? Real hero move. And have you noticed that you’re missing someone?”  
  
Tony tilts his head in mock confusion.

“Iron Man,” the man says, his smile a slash across his face. “How could you forget your precious Shellhead? Of course, it doesn’t matter anymore, since the armor blew up when we tried to open it.”

Steve freezes next to Tony, but he shows no other reaction that reveals his distress. Instead, he smiles at them, blue eyes wide and innocent, and Tony gets the feeling he’s up to something, because he knows that look, that whole “oh, shucks, golly me” routine, and it’s only when Steve is at his most calculating. A split second passes, and Steve abruptly whirls around, smashing his elbow into one of the guard’s faces and instantly knocking him out. He tosses the unconscious guard’s body at the other two, distracting them for a second while Steve pushes open the exit.

The other agents fly into action, attempting to grab Peter, who’s the smallest, but he’s more agile than them and quickly moves out of the way, running out the door with Gwen following. Tony doesn’t waste anymore time—the guards have almost recovered—and slips out, with Steve right behind him.

Outside the base is simply a forest, which Tony isn’t going to complain about. Trees provide cover, which they sorely need at the moment. As they head into the shade, the agents shouting some ways behind them, Steve grabs Tony, throwing him over his shoulder.

“Wait, what the fuck—Steve, put me down!” Tony struggles, but Steve’s grip is strong as he pushes forward. 

“You’re too slow, old man,” Steve says, ignoring Tony’s offended shout, and puts an extra burst of speed into his pace. Peter surprisingly keeps up, but Gwen is lagging behind, so he picks her up as well. Gwen yelps in surprise, but quickly quiets. “Sorry, kid, but it’s kind of necessary.”

“It’s—it’s fine,” Gwen says with something very close to admiration in her voice, and that makes Tony realize that Steve is still shirtless. He has his bloodstained scrub pants on, thank god, but from the waist up he’s completely bare, and Tony is completely pressed against him while Steve’s hand is on his ass, and Tony can feel the warmth of his skin even though his dress-shirt, and with the angle he’s at he has a prime view of all of Steve’s back muscles working, and this is not the time to get a boner, it’s really not, so Tony quickly thinks of Hammer and Killian doing _ things _together to stop all his blood from rushing southward. It works, but it also makes Tony nauseous on top of the fact that he’s already upside down, so not that great.

They run for what seems like hours but is probably only a few minutes before Steve finally comes to a stop, breathing hard. He lets both Gwen and Tony down before collapsing onto his knees, coughing. Tony rushes to him, running his hands all over Steve’s chest even though he’s not sure what he’s looking for. “Steve, you okay? Are you alright? Can you breathe?”  
  
Steve coughs a bit more, and looks up, eyes watery. “I—I’m fine,” he wheezes, letting out another cough, “just—not used to running taking that much out of me.”   
  
“It’s the suppressant,” Tony says softly, and then has a thought, “you’re not having an asthma attack, are you?” 

“I don’t—I don’t think so,” Steve says, and normally Tony wouldn’t trust Steve just like that, but he’s already breathing easier and isn’t coughing anymore, so he relaxes. 

They look up at the two kids, who are facing them in concern. “What’s wrong with Captain America?” Peter asks.

“Nothing,” Steve says immediately, and Tony sends him a dirty look.

“AIM injected him with something that suppressed the serum.”

“They don’t need to know that.”  
  
“They just witnessed you nearly die from lack of oxygen!” Tony’s aware that he’s exaggerating, but Steve had genuinely scared him, and he hates this, he hates that Steve’s managed to break through all of his barriers like they were paper without even trying. Years of a carefully cultivated persona, going down the drain because he can’t keep his emotions in check when Steve Rogers is around.   
  
“Semantics.”   
  
Tony’s about to shout at him again, but Gwen’s gaze bounces between the two of them, and she frowns. “Are you two together?”

Tony’s eyes widen, and immediately they break into protests. “No, no, what the fuck, we’re not even friends, I hate him, he’s the worst,” Tony says, at the same time as Steve’s, “No! What gave you that idea? He’s—he’s selfish and narcissistic.”

Gwen just looks between the two of them even more, clearly unconvinced, and says, “Uh huh.”

Peter’s worriedly glancing around, not paying much attention. “I think we should go. We’ve spent enough time sitting here. They could find us at any second. And—Iron Man,” he says sadly.

Tony twitches, feeling the heat of Steve’s gaze on the side of his head. It’s accusing, full of loathing at the reminder of what Tony did to his friend. But he doesn’t say anything more, probably to spare the kids.  
  
“You’re right.” Steve stands up, pushing away Tony’s hands as he attempts to help him. “You guys got a phone?”

“No service,” Peter says, holding it up. Of course. They’re in the middle of nowhere.

Steve sighs and brushes his hands against his pants. “Right. We’re not far from the entrance. Is there a parking lot?”

A parking lot. Tony hadn’t even thought to go for a car.

“There is one pretty far away,” Peter says. “They want us to walk, like, fifteen minutes to this place. We can try to lead you there, though I don’t know the way from this forest.”  
  
“It’s fine, we’ll figure it out,” Steve says. He closes his eyes suddenly, and they watch him in confusion, but don’t say anything. After a minute, he reopens them. “I was retracing our steps. We went southwest from the facility, and the parking lot is…”   
  
“South of it,” Gwen finishes. 

“Right. So we go that way.” Steve points to his left. There’s only trees. Probably for miles, really.

Tony follows his gaze and sighs. “Walking it is.” At least it’s in a cool, shaded forest and not a scorching desert in the height of summer.

They trudge along for a while, not even sure if they’re going in the right place but choosing to put faith in Steve’s navigational skills. 

It’s about seventeen minutes and twenty-six seconds (even when Tony is not actively keeping track of time, his mind is always counting in the background) later that they find an opening among the trees, and, bursting out of it, a small parking garage on the side of an old country road. On the other side is a path that presumably leads to the AIM facility. “There better not be any AIM agents around,” Tony mutters to himself as they speed up and head to the garage. “Can you guys drive?”  
  
“I can,” Gwen says, “Peter’s still a baby.”   
  
“Hey!”

“It’s true.”

“Okay, so do you have a car?” Tony interrupts before they can get started.  
  
“Second floor. It’s a rental.” They head up the stairs and Gwen pulls out her car keys, unlocking it.

“Wait,” Steve says, before she opens the door. “Does anyone know this car is yours?”  
  
Gwen frowns. “I don’t…”   
  
“Has anyone seen you with it? Anyone at all?”   
  
“Probably,” Gwen says. “I don’t—I’m sure someone has seen me at some point. But it’s a common car! I mean, it’s a silver Honda. Everyone has that.”

“Still, if they saw your license plate…” Steve looks at Tony and in that moment, Tony knows what he’s going to say, and nods. “Right, okay, you’re going to hate this, but,” Steve puts his hands on Gwen’s shoulders, “they’re expecting us to be with you, so if anyone sees this car they’ll go after it, and, well, you’re just kids. It’s bad enough you’ve gotten involved this far. So I need you to go back in another car and drive home without us.”

Gwen’s eyes go wide. “What? But—”  
  
Tony steps forward. “If you’re worried about the car, I’ll handle it.” He winks at her. “I’ll pay for any damage.”   
  
“No, I don’t care about the car, what about you guys?”   
  
“Chances are they’ll go after your car if they see it, thinking we’re in here. And, yeah, we will be, but _ you _ won’t be, and that makes things safer for you.”   
  
“How are you going to get another car, though?” Peter asks.

Tony goes for an old-looking car a few spots away, because breaking into one that still has keys will make his life easier. “Don’t worry about that. I can break into a car without tripping the alarm. And I can hotwire it, too.” He reaches down and pulls out the wire he keeps hidden in his sock, easily picking the lock. 

After a few minutes, the engine is up and running, and Tony slips out of the car. “Alright, kiddos, all you need to do once you get service is call Pepper Potts, let them know we sent you, they’ll handle your flights back to New York. You can’t stay here any longer. They know you helped us, and you’ll be in danger.”  
  
Gwen and Peter glance at each other. “What about you guys?” Peter asks with big, brown eyes.   
  
Tony glances at Steve, who shakes his head. “We can’t come with you. They’re looking for us specifically. We’ll just lead you into more danger. You need to run on your own, and tell the Avengers that we sent you. They’ll come for—well, they’ll come for Steve.” He ignores Steve’s sharp look at that. “Just—be careful, okay? AIM’s going to be everywhere. And if you get busted for stealing a car or something, just ask to call Pepper and she’ll handle it, okay?”   
  
“Trust me, Mr. Stark, I think we can manage it,” Peter says, with more confidence than his expression shows.

“Good.” Tony leans forward for a moment, about to hug them, but then pulls away at the last second, realizing what he’s doing. He can’t let himself get more attached than he already has. Moreover, he can’t let Steve think he’s human, that he has a heart, because he doesn’t, and the fact that he failed the first time is the reason they’re in this mess in the first place. Instead, he gives the two of them Pepper’s number, watching as they type it down into their contacts.

“Stay safe, the two of you,” Steve says, nodding at them. His back is ramrod straight, looking every bit the noble leader he is, despite the blood and bruises peppered all over his body and the fact that he’s only dressed in a pair of teal scrubs.

“We will,” Gwen promises. The two of them hold hands tightly as they walk to the car. Steve and Tony watch them go until they can’t see them anymore, and then Tony lets out a huge sigh.

“I feel like we made a mistake, letting them go.”  
  
“They’ll be safer without us,” Steve says with a grim expression. “You driving?”   
  
Tony unlocks the car, sitting down in the driver’s seat. “Yep. I’ve seen you drive, and it is scary,” he says without thinking.   
  
“When have you seen me drive?” Steve asks as he gets into the passenger’s seat, and Tony very nearly freezes as he starts up the engine. 

“YouTube,” he says casually. “Amazing the things you can find on there. Especially the videos with me.”

Steve gets a sour look at that. He’s silent as Tony reverses out of the parking spot. “You’ve been calling me Steve. Why?”

Tony pauses. “Have I?”

“Yes. I thought—” Steve’s jaw clenches in that self-righteous way of his, “—never mind.”  
  
“Any ideas where we should go?” Tony nods at the GPS.   
  
Steve ignores his question, barrelling on ahead. “You killed Iron Man.”   
  
“I didn’t,” Tony says immediately. “I didn’t even know.”   
  
“Yeah?” Steve challenges hotly. “Who rigged it to blow up? You say that Iron Man agreed to this plan, and yeah, he’s self-sacrificial, but I can’t imagine he would risk his life pointlessly like that.”   
  
They’re not going to get anywhere if Steve continues thinking that Tony would selfishly sell out his bodyguard like that, Tony realizes. Steve’s just going to be as unreceptive as possible, and who would blame him? He’s going to have to tell him the truth. Part of it, at least. “You’re right,” Tony says, gaze steadily fixed on the road. He can’t look at Steve, because then he’ll only keep lying to him. “He wasn’t in the armor.”   
  
There’s silence.   
  
“What?” Steve asks.   
  
Tony takes a right turn, glancing at the map. He actually recognizes the country road they’re on. It’ll lead straight to Malibu, which makes his life easier. They can head to his mansion. He licks his lip, thinking of how to answer. “I knew there was a chance AIM would get the armor, and, well, I don’t exactly want them to have access to that technology. So I set it to self-destruct if someone unauthorized tried to open it. But obviously, I don’t want to kill my bodyguard, so I made him go home. He’s fine. He was never in the armor.”   
  
“But then who was—”   
  
“JARVIS was controlling it. He was good, right?” Tony says proudly. That’s his boy. “Couldn’t even tell the difference.”

“Is—is JARVIS—was there _ ever _ anyone in the armor?” Almost immediately, he shakes his head. “No, there is. He—never mind.” 

Tony knows he’s thinking of the kiss, and once again he curses himself for his thoughtlessness. He’s so weak. Desperate.

“You made me think that you gave Iron Man up for death,” Steve continues, disbelievingly. “Why do you do that?”  
  
“What?”   
  
“Just—make me think you’re the worst person ever, then it turns out you were faking the entire time.” Steve holds his head in his hands. “I can’t deal with this. How many times are you going to play this game? I thought—I thought I was getting to know you, and then it turned out I didn’t know you, not at all, like you said. And now you’re turning yourself around _ again _ . Are you even telling the truth?”   
  
Tony doesn’t respond to that.

Steve scoffs. “Of course you are. If you weren’t, you would have told me right away, instead of making me believe you _ are _actually that heartless. If you really were what you said you were, you’d be falling over yourself to convince me otherwise.”

“I’m not confirming anything,” Tony says. “Look, why are you determined to get to know my true self? My true self is what you see,” he spits, “a selfish, narcissistic bastard, like you said.”  
  
“I can’t believe that,” Steve says, shaking his head. “No one who’s truly narcissistic would even acknowledge that they are, first of all, nor would they be so dead set on getting everyone to hate them. It would be the opposite, really.”

“You’re believing me easily,” Tony says. “I could just be lying.”  
  
“And I already said that if you were lying, you would have told me right away to make me feel better, instead of keeping quiet and letting me think you let Iron Man die.”   
  
“Maybe I just didn’t want to say anything because AIM could have overheard.”   
  
“It makes sense, okay?” Steve snaps. “And now you’re trying to tell me you’re lying because I’ve realized for the last time that you’re not who you say you are, and for some reason you can’t have that. You’re clearly backtracking, not lying.”

Tony knows he’s lost this particular battle. He just wanted Steve to not think he was a murderer for the time being, not to go right back to trying to be his friend. “Whatever,” he says, settling down for a long drive.

Two hours later, they arrive at Tony’s Malibu mansion. He hasn’t set foot in it in years, really, and that’s a depressing thought, because he built the house himself. He has a lot of memories in it—not all of them good, but for the most part, it was privy to his most important years. It’s where he became Iron Man for real. 

“What’s this place?” Steve asks as Tony parks the car and shuts off the engine.

“My house. We can stay here for now until the Avengers arrive.”  
  
“It’s… big,” Steve says, looking it up and down, but he doesn’t seem judgmental, surprisingly enough, so Tony lets it slide.

“Sir!” JARVIS exclaims the moment Tony walks into the mansion. “I must admit, it is… surprising to see you here.”  
  
“Yeah, they took us all the way to California, though you probably knew already.” Tony doesn’t pause for breath, much less an answer. “Tell the Avengers to come over here, by the way. And is there a phone lying around somewhere?”

“There is one in your workshop.”  
  
“Great. I’m going to call Pepper. Make yourself at home, Steve. Oh, uh, if you want a change of clothes, I’m sure there’s something. JARVIS can show you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Steve says, and follows JARVIS’ directions down the hall.

Tony heads down to the workshop, and for a second has to stop at the threshold because of all of the memories bombarding him. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this place until now. He closes his eyes, basking in the sight of his workshop, his church, his kingdom, inhaling deeply, before opening them again. He spots the phone sitting on one of his worktables. It’s an incredibly old model, but it still works, so Tony’ll take it.

He chooses Pepper’s number, and the phone barely dials before she picks up. “Tony! Oh, my god, Tony, are you okay? Rhodey! Rhodey, come here, he’s okay.”  
  
“I’m fine, Pep. Would you believe me if I said it was all planned?”   
  
The phone must be on speaker on Pepper’s end because it’s Rhodey that speaks. “What? Are you fucking stupid? Why would you—never mind that, all the Avengers are pissed with you right now because of what you did. They’re cursing your head and considering just leaving you there.” 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Tony jumps, before realizing it’s just Steve who followed him down. He’s in one of Tony’s old oversized hoodies, though it’s still on the smaller side for his frame, and he’s still wearing the scrub pants, probably because Tony’s would have been too small. Tony’s stomach flips at the sight of Steve in _ his _ clothes, and he clears his throat, turning back to the phone. “No problem with that, I got out on my own. Well, Steve helped.”   
  
“Steve, huh? When did that happen?” 

In his peripheral he can see Steve looking around the workshop. There are some older armors on display, including the Mark I, which is the one Steve pays the most attention to. Tony can feel a dark flush forming, red blossoming over his cheeks all the way down to his neck, and he hunches over. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

“Oh my god, did you finally tell him the truth?” Pepper demands. “Did you tell him about your crush? And Iron Man?”  
  
“Shut up he still hates me,” Tony says quickly, absurdly paranoid that Steve can somehow hear everything the two of them are saying. Steve gives him a glance at that, and Tony considers jumping into the ocean. He _ heard _ , didn’t he? His fucking superhearing and all. “Can you guys focus for one second? I need you to tell the Avengers to come here and pick us up. God knows where AIM is. Oh, and did two kids call you already? Are they okay?”   
  
“Gwen and Peter, right?” Pepper asks. “Yeah, they’re fine. JARVIS has been keeping track of them to make sure nothing happens until the jet arrives.”

Tony breathes out a sigh of relief. He watches as Steve frowns and steps forward, pressing his ear against one of the walls. _ What the fuck is he doing? _ “Good. Okay. I think that’s it for now—you know where I am, right? JARVIS should have told you. And you have the tracker in my reactor.”   
  
“No worries about that—”

Rhodey is cut off by a loud boom from upstairs, and spider web-like cracks begin to form in the ceiling, dust filtering down in thick clouds. Tony stares at the ceiling, mind somehow trying to process what just happened, when Steve shouts and tackles him to the ground moments before the ceiling caves in and rains down on them. The phone clatters out of his hand, buried under tons of concrete.

“What the _ fu _ —” Tony gasps, realizing a large chunk had fallen right where he was standing. And Steve had— _ saved _ him.   
  
“No time,” Steve says, cutting him off. There are red stains blooming through the fabric of the gray hoodie, dust coating his face and hair, and Tony realizes that he protected him from the rubble—but at his own expense. 

Guilt tears at his heart like a dagger as he realizes that Steve let himself get injured for _ Tony _. “You’re hurt,” Tony gets out, before Steve yanks him up and starts running to the entrance.

Steve doesn’t respond, simply grabbing Tony’s hand as they make their way over piles of broken concrete and metal. Tony keeps waiting for another explosion to rock the house, but nothing else comes, even as they head up the broken stairs to the living room.

The house is wrecked, rubble littering every available surface. The furniture is destroyed, and there are several gaping holes in the floor. Tony stops for a second, just staring at what has become of his house, but Steve grabs his hand again and pulls him forward, making sure to avoid any obstacles. Tony stumbles but tries to follow along as Steve leads him around the place. He glances through the broken wall, spotting two helicopters that must have been behind the explosions. They don’t seem to sending any more missiles, however. How did AIM find them?

He glances at Steve, and realizes they could have put a tracker in him. And neither of them ever considered that. _ Tony _should have. He underestimated Killian, and now Steve is hurt because of him.

They’re nearly at the entrance when they realize that an agent is standing there, waiting for them. She has a grin on her face, orange light pulsing beneath her skin. “I’m sorry for the damage. Really, I am. Aldrich… has always had a flair for the dramatics.”  
  
“Yeah, I can tell,” Tony says, refusing to look around at what has become of his house. He shouldn’t complain, really. He has other houses. He doesn’t even live in this one anymore. But it had been _ special _. He glances at the helicopters, frowning. “You going to call your attack dogs off?”

“No, I think they’ll be fine right where they are.” Her eyes flicker over to Steve, standing quietly by Tony’s side, and she lunges forward. 

Steve meets her halfway, blocking her from hitting one of them. She’s faster, though, easily beating Steve in his sluggish, injured state. She steps to the side and lands a powerful punch on his stomach. Steve gasps, leaning forward in pain, and she knocks him to the ground.

Tony feels so _ useless _ standing to the side watching the fight. He desperately looks around for anything he can use as a weapon besides just a piece of concrete, though he picks one up anyway. Tony glances at the woman assessingly. The AIM agents are made of fire, sure, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be overloaded with heat, considering how unstable the serum really is.

The kitchen is a little bit away from here, but there’s no guarantee anything in there works anymore. Tony frowns and looks back at the two, getting ready to throw his chunk of concrete straight at her, draw her attention to him—but before he can do that, Steve weakly throws a punch which the woman catches, twisting his arm and throwing him to the ground again. She punches him in the head, _ hard _, and knocks him out.

Tony stares as she turns and approaches him. He has wasted enough time. Steve is hurt, putting himself through hell for Tony over and over again, and he can’t even muster up the ability to fight without the armor. “Oh, poor Tony,” the woman coos as she saunters over. She doesn’t seem to be gearing up for a fight—probably thinks it’s not even worth trying considering him. “What’s the playboy billionaire going to do now? Your bodyguard is gone. Your boytoy is lying on the ground unconscious. Your house is destroyed. Just—give up. Come with us.”  
  
Tony closes his eyes for a second and calls the armor from the basement. He’s made sure to have a current version of the armor available to him in all of his houses—just in case it was ever needed. Rhodey had thought he was just being extra paranoid as Tony installed them. Tony can’t wait to rub it in his face. 

The sound of the armor flying over gets louder, and the woman stops with a quizzical look on her face. Moments later, the pieces assemble around Tony. He shoots her with a repulsor, knocking her back for a moment, and rushes forward and grabs Steve, jetting off into the sky before anyone can fire at him. 

The armor is a very, very basic prototype. He’s surprised it worked well enough when he summoned it. Considering his secret identity, he always felt like it would be difficult for him to call the armor to him if he was ever in a situation without it, so he hasn’t spent a lot of time working out the kinks. Luckily, it works fine enough in a pinch, though there’s not nearly enough power in it to get them to the tower.

“How are you, Sir?” JARVIS asks once they’ve gotten far away enough. “I saw what happened to the mansion through the armor.”  
  
“I’m fine, J, you would know if I was hurt.”   
  
“Yes, well, I meant more… emotionally.”   
  
Tony rolls his eyes. “Again, I’m _ fine _ .” He can just rebuild it. It’s not the first time he’s had to. “You’ve been keeping track of my location, right?”   
  
“Affirmative. The Avengers are leaving right now and they have been made aware of your changing status. Is there a location you would like to rendezvous at?”   
  
“My safe house. You know the one.” It’s not too far away from where they are. They can—they can’t stay there for too long, if AIM does have a tracker in Steve. Most likely, the Avengers will have to get there first and wait for Steve and Tony, which makes things harder than they really should be.

Tony comes to a landing soon enough. He’s not sure if AIM is chasing after them, which is why he waited to stop flying. But Steve is still unconscious and that worries him. JARVIS says that all his vitals are strong and healthy given the circumstances, but Tony still needs to treat his injuries. 

Tony gently lays Steve on the ground, getting out the small first aid kit he keeps stocked in all of his armors. There’s a lot more supplies than people may think stored in the armor, including a fake ID, cash, credit cards, and even snacks. Sometimes, it pays to be paranoid.

He disinfects the wounds, stitching up the worst of them. Then he wraps them all in gauze tightly. It’s around this point that Steve’s eyes start fluttering open. Tony leans over his face. “Steve? Steve, how are you?”

Steve’s eyes are squinted, but he seems to be awake. “Mm. Tony?” Tony pauses for a second, hearing his first name come out of Steve’s mouth.   
  
“Yeah, it’s me, big guy, you took quite a few hits there.” Try as he might, Tony can’t keep the fondness out of his voice, and he curses himself for his weak heart. 

Steve groans and fully opens his eyes. “What happened? I was—oh, your mansion!” he exclaims, sitting straight up. “It blew up, and the AIM—that AIM agent, she was fighting me?” He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a hand against his temple. “And then what happened?”  
  
Tony sits back on his heels. “You got knocked out, Cap. I, uh, I used the armor. To escape.”

Steve blinks at him. “You can use the armor?”  
  
“I developed it, of course I can,” Tony says. He glances up at the sky, half expecting a helicopter to come rushing at them. “We need to go. I figured things out with JARVIS. The Avengers are going to meet us at a safe house in Kansas.”   
  
Steve stares. “Why Kansas?”   
  
“Because no one fucking lives in Kansas.”   
  
Steve nods, not admonishing him for his rudeness, surprisingly. “Right. And where are we now?”   
  
“Nevada. I didn’t want to wait to treat your injuries, so I just went far enough that I knew AIM wouldn’t catch up to us right away.”

“How would they do that?”  
  
Tony gestures at Steve. “I think they put some sort of tracker in you. Do you have any idea the kinds of things they injected you with?”   
  
Steve furrows his brow, realizing blooming in his eyes as he glances down at his lap. “Not really.” He looks at Tony with shiny eyes. “Stark, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault—”   
  
“It’s not,” Tony says firmly, cutting him off, and ignoring the way Steve’s gone back to ‘Stark.’ “You had no way of knowing. I should have considered it.” He sighs before Steve can argue. “Let’s not waste time on that. There’s no way I can get it out of you, so we’re going to have to just keep moving and hope they’re not too fast. Most likely, as long as we don’t stay in one place, they won’t go after us with the helicopters. That was specifically to bomb my house.”

“We taking the armor?” Steve nods at it. 

“Right, so.” Tony takes a deep breath. “Here’s where the problem starts. The armor can get us there quickly, but then we run the risk of AIM ambushing us at the safe house before the Avengers arrive, since it’s much faster than the quinjet. And let’s be real, we can’t fight them off. So we have to get there _ after _the Avengers arrive, but that means we’ll have to go slower and risk AIM catching up to us that way.”

“I see.” Steve clenches his jaw, thinking. “If we lay low, keep moving, we’ll probably be safer than if we stay in one place.”  
  
“Exactly.”   
  
He purses his mouth, clearly not liking the obvious choice, but realizing they have no other feasible option. “Okay. Okay, we’ll have to drive there. You got a car?”   
  
“I have a credit card. We can rent a car from the nearby town.” Tony points in the direction he recalls it being. "It’s—a two minute walk, I think? I made sure to land close to it.”   
  
“And what do we do with the armor?”   
  
“Uh,” Tony glances at it, “we can keep it in the trunk or something. It’s still online, so JARVIS can control it for now. JARVIS, say hi.”   
  
The armor waves at Steve.

Steve gives a little wave back, and glances in the direction Tony had pointed to. “So, we walk?”  
  
“We walk,” Tony confirms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay explanation for why Peter and Gwen are here. Originally the AIM base was in like upstate New York which was reasonable for them to go to. I changed for plot reasons and nearly cut them out but decided, you know what, they traveled to uhh California for the summer for an internship because I really wanted to keep them in, lol. Hope that makes sense.
> 
> This Peter is still MCU Peter, while I imagine Gwen as a college student, and the two of them met at Oscorp, so their relationship is strictly platonic and always will be. Peter only has eyes for MJ, anyway. He is also already Spider-Man (yeah, I know, he's slightly older than in canon, but whatever). I wanted to bring him in but couldn't find a fitting way to do it so Tony will have to discover that another time (he does, in fact, eventually take the time to uncover Spider-Man's identity when everything dies down, and screams when he realizes it's that kid he met while kidnapped) And who knows, maybe Gwen will become Spider-Gwen one day. ;)


	7. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so… I’m just going to be honest. I’ve lost some interest in Marvel now that both Steve and Tony are gone, which is why my writing has become so slow. If you follow me on Tumblr, you’ve probably already noticed my incessant posts about The Magnus Archives, which is my main interest right now.
> 
> Also, I’ve just lost my writing muse. I’m in college and while fandom probably used to be the first thing on my mind, now it’s school stuff. You would think I have more free time now that I’m quarantined, but I’m just trying to keep up, and when I do have free time I don’t want to use it to write. I’ve also started studying for the MCAT (really light content review—more to get into the habit of studying everyday and to get ahead in some of my prereqs). That said, I promise I’ll try to get this fic done by the fall semester before I really start grinding for it. Keyword being “try.”
> 
> But!! I have a bunch of other Marvel WIPs that I’m going to try my best to finish, just because some of them have been lying around since like 2016/2017, lol. I do have an MTH Stony fic that I need to finish (just started rewriting it because I didn’t like how it turned out), so that’s one guaranteed fic. If anyone is interested in reading any of my other fics, I mean.
> 
> Anyway, that’s what’s been going on with me. Let me know how you’re all doing! Especially with COVID-19. I hope you and your loved ones are all safe and healthy. 💗💗💗
> 
> PLEASE heed the warnings for this chapter because it’s probably the darkest one: violence, blood, mentions of possible brain damage, fear of the unknown, paranoia, being set on fire, temporary perceived character death (no one dies, but Steve thinks he is). Yeah. It’s a rough chapter. But I do think this is going to be the last hurdle and from here it’s smooth sailing.

The moment they get into the town, Stark delegates Steve with the task of procuring food and clothes for them, since they’ve barely gotten to eat in days, and desperately need a change of clothes. Stark goes off to get a car from somewhere, and Steve stands there for a moment, watching his form. 

Stark is, again, not who he thought he would be. Steve’s starting to realize more and more that he shouldn’t make any assumptions about him, because more often than not, he’ll end up being wrong. The amount of times he’s done that already is uncomfortably high, and Steve resolves to not make any more judgments right away. He’s done that too many times, and most likely hurt Stark in the process. It’s what he did when they first met, and Steve can’t begin to describe how immensely he regrets it. 

At the time, Steve had been frustrated and struggling to adjust to waking up, and it doesn’t at all excuse what he said, but he just—he took it out in the wrong way. And now he’s ruined whatever potential relationship he could have had with Stark.

But then, Stark didn’t exactly help, did he? Besides that first meeting, he made a point to be as obnoxious and irritating as possible. He’s said some awful stuff unprovoked, some of which cut Steve down to the bone. For whatever reason, he _ wanted _Steve to not like him, and that’s the confusing thing, isn’t it? The key to this whole intricate problem is whatever drove Stark to act the way he did.

He’s getting the feeling that he has all the pieces to form the complete puzzle, with all the inconsistencies and lies and half-truths Stark has told him. An idea, a ridiculous one, pops into his head, that Stark is Iron Man, because it lines up with a lot of new information—that Stark can use the armor, that Iron Man wasn’t in the suit recently, and that it can be controlled by JARVIS—but almost immediately, he refutes that. Why would Stark go to all that effort to hide his identity? There’s no logical reason for him to do that and then start—talking bad about himself. 

Surely Stark is not that stupid, right? Yes, it may explain a few things, but there could be other better explanations for them anyway, some of which Stark has already provided. Yeah, Steve’s probably overthinking things. It’s going to be something smaller than that. Besides, if he was, Natasha probably would have caught on already.

He’s not going to get any answers just standing here, though, so he turns and heads into the grocery store. Stark told him it’ll take a good nineteen hours to drive over, and that’s without any stops they might make on the way or traffic, so Steve makes sure to pick up a ton of chips and other quick, non-perishable foods. He doesn’t spend time in the fridge or freezer section, although some of those pictures of complete meals look tempting. He’s probably just really hungry, since the serum seems to be taking effect again. But they’re of no use, so he refrains from checking anything out besides what he already has.

By the time he heads out, easily carrying six heavy bags with him, Stark is waiting with a car in front. It’s on the older side, but Steve is the last person to complain about something like that, so he sets everything on the back seats and then slides into the passenger’s side. 

“There wasn’t a rental place,” Stark starts with, and Steve blinks, turning to look at him. “Not one I can get on foot, anyway.”  
  
“Then where did you—”   
  
“Oh, relax,” Stark says as he starts up the engine and enters the main road after checking his blind spot, “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re thinking.” It wasn’t. It didn’t even occur to Steve that Stark would do something like that, but he supposes he would have jumped to that conclusion even just a month ago. “I’m borrowing it from someone,” Stark continues. “Mr. Johnson. Nice guy. Still can’t believe he went through with it, but he said he had another car anyway. I gave him all my cash, promised to buy him any car he wanted, and to pay for his wife’s cancer treatment.”   
  
“And you’re going to uphold that?” Steve asks. He doesn’t mean for it to sound like he’s doubting Stark. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Stark from all this, it’s that he’s a man of his word. It’s more that he wants _ Stark _to realize that he’s a good person by getting him to say it himself, because it probably hasn’t even occurred to him that only someone who is good would do all that.

Steve’s learning. He’s picking things up. Stark is a puzzle, a mystery, but not an unsolvable one. People like Ms. Potts and Rhodey must have learned to see through the illusion, the veneer. And now, Steve’s hoping he can do the same. He’s already halfway there.

“Well, yeah,” Stark says casually as he takes a left. Up ahead Steve can see a ramp leading to a highway. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?” He doesn’t even seem to be thinking about what he’s saying, because up until now Stark has been resistant to admitting anything that would imply he’s more than what he says he is.

“The kind of person you want me to think you are,” Steve says softly.

He can visually see the pause in Stark, the realization that he said too much, but his hands are steady on the wheel as he speeds up in preparation of merging onto the highway. “Okay, I guess I walked right into that. Good one.”

“You’re done playing games, then? There’s no point in trying to convince me you’re—not what you are. I know better now. For real this time.”

Stark sighs heavily, honking at a car that’s attempting to merge into their lane. “What would I have to do to convince you?”  
  
“Kill someone, probably,” Steve says. It’s meant to be a joke, and Stark gets that, because a small grin blooms on his face.

“Oh, sure, just give me a name,” Stark says airily.

Steve can’t help it. He’s in this ridiculous situation, basically going on a road trip with someone who had, at one point, been the person he hated most in the world, and now they’re cracking jokes together while on the run from a man who turns humans into bombs. He _ can’t _ help it. He laughs.

A good five hours pass by, and there’s no sign of them getting closer. It’s late, the moon high in the sky, stars twinkling among the blackness. 

Steve’s already consumed two of the family-size chip bags and an entire box of powdered donuts, and he’s ashamed to say it’s not the first time he’s pigged out on junk food like this. It’s not even the second, or the third, or the fourth, if he’s really honest. With the serum, no matter how many unhealthy calories he consumes they won’t have any effect on him. And now, he’s crashing even harder because of the drug AIM injected him with, so he was hungrier than normal. 

He glances over at Stark, who is still steadily making his way down the road. This late at night, there’s only a few stragglers here and there driving along. “You need to rest,” he says. “Go to sleep. I can drive for a bit.”

Stark’s eyes flicker over to him. “No, you need the rest more.”  
  
“I don’t,” Steve says firmly. “I can go days without feeling tired. I know you’re used to sleep deprivation, but you still need it. I promise I won’t crash into anything, if you’re just scared of my driving.”   
  
“That’s not very reassuring,” Stark mutters, but he must be more tired than Steve realized, because he dutifully drives onto the shoulder and turns on the hazard lights, parking once they come to a stop.

They switch places, and Steve starts up the car again. “Can you tell me the directions? Or just turn on the GPS? I don’t know where we have to go.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll just—” Stark enters the address into the GPS, which immediately says to continue driving straight for five more miles. “Okay, there we go. You good now?”   
  
“Should be. Night, Tony,” Steve says without thinking.   
  
He doesn’t glance over, too focused on trying to drive at a regular speed, but he hears a slight intake of breath, before, softly, “Good night, Steve.”

Steve drives in silence, mind half focused on the empty, yawning road in front of him, and half on the topic of Stark—Tony, he supposes. He’s already called him that a few times.

Tony just, he just—Steve was too harsh on him. He was _ awful _ to him. He knows that. He’s known that for a while now, and it’s not the first time he’s felt the guilt beating at him when he thinks about his… _ encounters _with Tony.

It’s strange. Not too long ago they were shouting at each other, screaming obscenities, calling each other names, all for an excuse to have sex. When Steve thinks about all the crazy shit they did together, he shivers. Was that really him? The things he did, he said, are so unlike him that he can’t help but imagine a grotesque monster in his place. 

_ “Aw, are you too ashamed to admit it? That you—Captain America—like taking it up the ass? Don’t worry, you’re not the first repressed gay man I’ve fucked.” _

Steve shakes his head, trying to get the thought out of his head. He doesn’t like remembering all the words Tony threw at him, and even less what _ he _said to Tony. But try as he might, the memory keeps coming back. 

_ Flashes of the ice haunt his head, don’t let him get any rest, and Steve’s body feels cold as he slips out of bed, giving up on trying to sleep. He pads down the hall to the communal kitchen, hugging himself in a vague attempt to get warm. Steve’s not really sure what he’s aiming to do, just as long it drowns out the black and blue swirling in his mind. _

_ “Captain Rogers, might I suggest a warm drink to soothe yourself? Perhaps tea or hot chocolate?” JARVIS cuts in, and Steve startles slightly. _

_ He wets his dry mouth. “Uh—sure.” Steve is not a good cook, not at all. But he can manage microwave hot chocolate, he thinks. _

_ He grabs a packet from the pantry and follows the directions on the back. Just as he’s placing the mug in the microwave he hears a shuffle from behind him and whirls around, ready to attack whoever intruded. _

_ He blinks, relaxing when he realizes it’s just Stark. As much of an asshole he is, he’s not going to attack Steve. Not physically, at least. _

_ “Oh,” Stark says, staring at him. There are dark bags under his eyes and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days. Idly, Steve wonders if he has nightmares, too. “You’re here.” His voice is dull, monotone. _

_ “I am,” Steve says. _

_ Stark opens his mouth to say something else, but his gaze strays to beside Steve, and Steve follows it, landing on the microwave. Seconds later, there’s a sharp crackling sound and Stark rushes forward, pulling open the microwave door. “Why the hell did you leave a spoon in here? You’re not supposed to put metal in the microwave! Did no one tell you that?” _

_ He had been told that, but it—it slipped Steve’s mind, and he feels a sharp, stinging guilt. Even now, long after he woke up from the ice, and he’s still making stupid mistakes like this. _

_ Stark pulls the mug out, dumping everything into the sink without a second glance. “I was going to drink that,” Steve protests. _

_ “The spoon was sparking. You sure about that?” Stark asks sharply. There’s a bite to his voice, an anger that seems far too concentrated to have anything to do with Steve. “God, you fuck so well I keep forgetting you’re actually from the forties. _

_ Steve flinches for a second. It’s the first time their… arrangement has been brought up. He prefers it hadn’t. It makes it all the more real. “Can you not—talk about that?” he hisses. _

_ A smirk curls around Stark’s mouth as he gazes steadily at Steve. “Aw, are you too ashamed to admit it? That you—Captain America—like taking it up the ass? Don’t worry, you’re not the first repressed gay man I’ve fucked.” _

_ “It’s not—” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Oh, sure,” Stark cuts in, cruel and rigid like iron. “‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ That’s what they all say. But it _ is _ me. Always. I’m the shameful secret. Well, Cap, you know what—deal with it. Deal with the fact that _ this _ is our life, that you keep coming back to me, time and time again.” _

Steve is cut out of his thoughts when he hears a shuffle from beside him. He glances over, but realizes that it was just Tony moving in his sleep.

_ He was right _ , he thinks miserably. _ I was ashamed. _Not of having sex with a man, necessarily. Steve had come to terms with that not too long after he woke up, having learned how the LGBTQ+ movement had developed. It was more… the fact that he was doing it with Tony. 

Steve knows it makes no sense for him to feel guilty considering the information he was working with, but the way he treated Tony, like a dirty secret, the way he essentially used him as an outlet for his frustrations while still treating him like shit, that’s unforgivable, no matter what. 

He just hopes he can make up for it.

It’s a few hours later when Tony wakes up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Time’s it?” he mumbles.

“Little after four AM—in Nevada. Not sure what time zone we’re in,” Steve admits. 

“Hm. How much gas is left?” 

Steve pauses. He probably should have checked when he first started driving. “Uh… it’s a little less than one-fourth.” That’s not good.  
  
Tony sighs. “Guess we’ll have to take the risk and get gas, then. There should be a rest spot coming up.” 

Steve’s not even going to ask how Tony automatically knows that. He just nods and waits for Tony’s greenlight to take the exit. Steve parks next to one of the gas pumps and shuts off the engine, getting out of the car.

“You know what kind of fuel we need?” he asks Tony.

Tony nods, seeming distracted. “Yeah, yeah, you just get some more food. I’ll handle gas.” He places a credit card in Steve’s hand, taking the other one for himself.

Steve nods and heads into the rest stop, taking a moment to relieve himself as well. Then he picks up some more nonperishables. With the rate Steve is going through the food, they’ll need as much as they can get.

When he returns outside Tony’s already done getting gas. Instead, he’s parked in the parking lot and is frowning at something in the trunk. He’s whispering furiously.

“What’s up?” Steve asks.

“Oh, Steve! I was talking to your team, checking how far away they are.” Tony moves to the side slightly, showing that the Iron Man helmet is active. Steve doesn’t miss the usage of ‘your,’ showing how Tony is distancing himself from the Avengers despite funding it.   
  
_ “Good, Steve, he didn’t kill you, I was starting to get worried,” _comes Natasha’s voice. Steve rolls his eyes. They both know Tony wouldn’t be able to do that, even if he did try.

“I’m fine. We’re both fine. Where are you?”  
  
_ “We’re at the safehouse already, just waiting for you guys. You’re not too far away now, maybe an hour’s drive? You’d better hurry up. I think Thor and Clint are getting bored and I’d rather they don’t destroy the house.” _

Tony grimaces, clearly not happy at the prospect of having his property ruined. “We’ll be there soon,” he promises. His gaze slides towards Steve and he says, “You want to talk to them? I can step away for a bit.”  
  
“Sure,” Steve says. Tony nods and walks towards the front of the car, leaning against the driver’s door. 

_ “How’s he been treating you?” _ Natasha asks. _ “How’s he—” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “Steve!” _ Clint interrupts, clearly having shoved his way besides Natasha. _ “God, I can’t believe you’re taking that monster with you. What’s it like being shoved in a car with him?” _ _   
_ _   
_“He’s not a monster,” Steve protests, knowing that even just yesterday he would have said the same thing. “He’s—he’s misunderstood, Iron Man was never there, he told me, he’s fine.”

Clint sounds outraged. _ “And you’re believing him? Are you hearing yourself? ‘Misunderstood,’ my ass, he’s a selfish asshole that would willingly let a hero get murdered. He’s lying to you, Steve. Iron Man hasn’t contacted us at all.” _ _   
_ _   
_ Steve shakes his head. He hopes Tony can’t hear any of this. He’s not that far away, after all. He chances a glance up at him, but Tony is still casually leaning against the car, gaze focused on something else. “That was part of the plan. He’s good, I swear. I mean, he’s the one who got us out of the AIM base in the first place. He made sure to bring me along. I was—practically useless. If he didn’t care, he would have just left me and made a run for it himself.”   
  
Tony’s definitely looking at something—Steve follows his gaze and spots a person who’s steadily approaching them. He doesn’t recognize him, but he’s willing to bet he knows who the man is anyway. 

“Uh, Steve, we have to go.” Steve startles, realizing Tony is suddenly right at his side. He chances a glance back, at the man still coming closer, and nods. 

“We have a problem. Talk to you later,” Steve says quickly, before shutting the trunk amid Natasha and Clint’s protests. 

Tony slides into the driver’s seat and starts up the car, and Steve follows in the passenger’s seat. There’s a tapping sound, and Steve realizes the man is standing right at the window. He has a twisted, sick grin on his face, like a predator looking upon its prey. He’s holding his finger against the window, the skin a bright orange. His flesh is hot enough to start melting a hole in the glass.

“Tony, step on it!” Steve shouts, and Tony doesn’t hesitate to reverse out of the parking spot, quickly turning left and shooting out of the parking lot. He takes the ramp that leads straight to the highway, and Steve thinks that maybe they’re free for now.

He glances behind them and sees several cars tailing them. Oh. Never mind. His heart drops like a stone. Had they been right behind them the entire time, since they first left the town? “Fuck.”  
  
Tony glances at the rearview mirror at the curse and speeds up even more. He’s well above the speed limit now, weaving between traffic with a grace that Steve doesn’t possess. A cacophony of angry horns rises up as they pass by, but Steve pays it no mind. “Keep an eye on them,” Tony tells Steve curtly.

“That’s what I’m doing!” Steve wishes he had his shield—anything, really, anything that he could use as a weapon against them. He glances out the window again and sees that their pursuers are catching up. “Can you go any faster?”

“I’m going at one-hundred. This old thing can’t take much more than that.” Tony inhales deeply, and Steve can just about see the cogs whirring in his head as he comes up with some new scheme. “Alright. I’m improvising.” Abruptly, he jerks the wheel to the right, towards the open fields beside the highway. The car shudders as they bounce over uneven ground before finally rolling to a stop.

Steve can hear AIM right behind them, and clearly Tony does, too, because he shoots out of the car and pops open the trunk. He pulls out the Iron Man helmet and stares at it, seemingly going through some internal struggle. His gaze shifts towards Steve for a moment, before his eyes become steely and determined. “Fuck it,” he murmurs. “I’m fighting back.” He flicks his arms, and the pieces of the armor jet out of the trunk and assemble around him. “You ready, Steve?” The voice that comes out of the armor is the modulated one Iron Man uses all the time. 

Steve considers his lack of any sort of weapon, the fact that they’re almost certainly outnumbered, and nods. “As I’ll ever be.” It’s so much like having Iron Man back that Steve almost calls him Shellhead. But Iron Man is—somewhere far away, hopefully safe.

He almost wants to ask how Tony’s going to fight. He knows Tony has experience in controlling the armor, could maybe even get himself out of a pinch if necessary, but that’s still different from an actual battle.   
  
They stand side by side as AIM surround them, several of the agents getting out of the cars. He sees more still waiting inside. In total, Steve estimates about ten of them. Ten people that the two of them are going to have to fight. They’ve had worse odds, and won, but Steve already knows he can’t underestimate AIM.

Killian, Steve thinks, emerges from one of them. He tsks lightly, shaking his head. “Tony, this would all be so much easier if you just went along with me.”

“Fuck you,” Tony says, “I’m not going down without a fight.” And then he shoots Killian straight in the chest. 

He’s thrown back several feet, but whatever damage the attack did, it quickly heals up. Steve can see the orange glow of Extremis as it works its magic, Killian pushing himself up and grinning crookedly. “I had a feeling you would say that. Too bad you’re outnumbered.” He lunges forward, and the fight begins. 

Steve grunts as the majority of the agents go straight towards him while Killian heads straight to Tony. He flips backward, narrowly avoiding a punch, and delivers a strong kick to one of their faces. The adrenaline rush that always comes with a battle is welcome, keeps him on his toes as he fights off their attackers.

They’re strong, incredibly strong, and have clearly been trained in how to fight, which means that they actually pose a challenge for Steve. It also means that he doesn’t have the capacity to focus on what Tony’s doing, too busy trying to fend off his enemies. He can hear repulsors going off behind him, but that’s the scope of his awareness. 

Steve throws one of the agents over his shoulder and lashes out at another one who attempts to disbalance him, nimbly dodging their leg and delivering a harsh elbow jab. 

The problem is that with the Extremis serum, all of Steve’s attacks, at most, stun them. Breaking their bones doesn’t even matter because within seconds, they’ll be healed up. And the agents know this, because they’re all ganging up on him, the weaker one here. He’s getting swarmed. The moment he punches out one agent, another takes their place. 

“Steve!” Tony shouts. Steve glances over and sees Tony flying straight towards him. He doesn’t think, instinctively grabbing onto Tony’s hand as he shoots past. He kicks several agents in the face as Tony lifts him up and away. It’s—too familiar, the way they’ve fallen into the fight together. It’s organic, it’s natural, like they’ve been fighting beside each other on the battlefield for years. 

And it’s a maneuver that they’ve done before. If any of the grounded members of the team ever gets swarmed by too many enemies, then one of the flying members will fly them over to a clear space to give them some breathing room. 

The moment that Tony lets go of Steve so that he can roll onto the ground is the moment that everything clicks. His world tilts on its axis, squeezing tightly, before snapping back into place like a rubber band, everything crystal clear, and he finds himself staring directly at Tony, watching as he moves fluidly in the armor like he’s been doing it for years, like it’s a second skin.

And it is. How many times have Steve and Iron Man done the exact same maneuver in battle? They fell into their instinctual patterns so quickly, so confidently, that Steve _ knows _ . He _ knows _Tony is Iron Man. 

It all makes sense. The half truths and lies Tony’s been telling, all the little inconsistencies in his behavior, the fact that Iron Man and Tony are rarely seen together, and if they are, it’s as though Iron Man has become a robot. There never was a second person. The man Steve’s fallen in love with is the same man he swore he would never stop hating. Tony _ is _Iron Man.

And Iron Man is Tony. The man and the machine, one and the same, irreversibly intertwined. 

The realization strikes him to his core, halts him in the middle of battle, and it hits him even harder than the punch straight to his face. 

Steve grunts, falling backwards because he hadn’t expected the hit. Moments later, a strong blast throws the AIM agent who had hit him several feet away before she could anything else. 

“Now is not the time, Steve,” Tony says in a clipped tone as he helps Steve up, shooting a repulsor at someone else at the same time. Clearly, he knows what Steve’s figured out. Without waiting for a response, he throws himself back into the fray.

Steve wipes the blood streaming from his nose and nods shakily, trying to bring his focus back onto the fight. He eyes several AIM agents who are circling around him, clearly waiting to strike. They all know he’s not going to win this fight. Not because he’ll tire, but because none of his attacks are doing serious damage _and _because he’s outnumbered. He’s not getting anywhere, and eventually they’ll be able to overpower him.

But he’s going to keep fighting back, for Tony. He can’t let Tony be taken because of _ him _. 

Steve moves first, lunging forward and sucker punching one of them straight in the jaw. He can feel the bone shatter upon impact, but it’s only moments after that the familiar glow of Extremis takes over and their jaw rights itself. Steve doesn’t let that deter him, only spins around and roundhouse kicks someone else, ducking when they swipe at his head and elbowing them in the face.

He has a feeling that Killian went straight for Tony, letting all his minions distract Steve while he fights Tony. If Tony really is Iron Man—and Steve is certain about this more than he’s been certain about anything else in his life, lips tingling where they kissed—then he can definitely handle himself, but Steve still feels a deep tugging in his chest, a map leading him straight to Tony—to _ Iron Man _. They’ve always had each other’s backs, and Steve’s place is by Iron Man. By Tony.

He ignores everyone trying to fight with him. Insead, he starts running in the direction of the repulsor blasts, builds up momentum, and ducks under someone’s outstretched arm, sliding in the dirt, before picking himself back up and heading straight towards Tony, who is, as Steve guessed, warring with Killian. 

The armor is smoking, burnt in some places, but still Tony does not give up. The armor is strong, but it’s still iron (Steve can hear Iron Man—_ Tony _correcting him for the hundredth time in his head, exasperatedly saying it’s a gold-titanium alloy), and iron has a melting point.

“Tony!” Steve shouts, drawing their attention to him. He hesitates for a moment, realizing he didn’t have a plan beyond helping Tony, but Killian chuckles, shaking his head.

“You are more devoted to him than I thought. It’s _ pathetic _. Tell me, what has he done for you? Is he a good lay, or… seriously, what is he worth?”

Steve hears the blood rushing through his ears. His face is sticky with blood, nose still stinging. There’s dirt streaked on his face, sweat dripping down his temple. He hasn’t showered in days, has been locked up and experimented on and on the run for the same amount of time. He’s been through more betrayals and arguments and paradigm shifts than he can count, and Tony Stark is the most infuriating, obnoxious man he knows, but strangely enough, in that moment, he feels none of that. His body is light and at peace as he says, “Tony Stark is a good man. He’s a hero, and I’m in love with him, have been for months, maybe years, and it’s taken me this long to realize who he truly was. And I’m sorry. Sorry for everything I’ve ever said. It was all wrong, and I was wrong.”

“Cute,” Killian says after a pause. “Leave the love confessions for off the battlefield next time though, hm?” 

Next to him, Tony is staring at him silently. With the mask, it’s impossible for Steve to know what he’s thinking. But he’s completely still, frozen solid.

“I meant every word. Go ahead, kill me, do whatever you want, but leave Tony out of it.” Steve chokes, slightly, words coming out thick and heavy. “He deserves better than what he’s gotten.”

Killian smiles, a cold, terrifying thing. “I might just take you up on that. Guys, grab him.”

Steve feels searing hot flesh seize his arms, push him down to his knees. He gasps at the initial shock of _ heatpainheat _, but doesn’t let any other sounds out. He’s not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing he’s feeling pain.

“Steve,” Tony says shortly, still standing there in clear shock. That’s all he can manage before the remaining AIM agents tackle him to the ground, clearly trying to damage the armor.

Killian approaches lazily, strutting and preening as though he’s already won. Steve has to admit, it does look bad, but that doesn’t mean there’s no hope. “You’re an idiot,” he says, bringing a glowing hand up to Steve’s cheek. He clenches his jaw as Killian caresses it, burning the skin, but refuses to make any noise. “If you just stayed silent, you could have won.”

“And you’re a pompous douchebag, but we can’t all win in life, can we?” Steve snaps. He keeps his gaze trained on Tony, watching as pieces of the armor are torn off of his person. He’s struggling, but there are three enhanced individuals holding him down, and that has to pose a challenge even for the invincible Iron Man.

The smug smirk on Killian’s face quickly falls away, replaced with a scowl.

“Ouch,” says one of the minions holding Steve down.

“Quiet,” Killian quickly tells him, before turning back to Steve. “Well, you know what, Captain? I was considering keeping you alive, but never mind that anymore.”  
  
“No!” Tony cries, struggling even harder. He wrenches one armored arm free, managing to smash one of his captors hard in the face before it’s grabbed again. The helmet has already been ripped off, revealing his bruised and bloody face underneath. Strange how dark and liquid his eyes are, even from so far away. 

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve says softly, thinking that at least he got one last look at Tony before he died. “Don’t blame yourself. Please.”

“Killian, you don’t want to do this,” Tony says, clearly trying to stay calm, but his voice still wobbles at points. “He didn’t do anything—it was all me, he wasn’t even supposed to be here. Look, just—he’s still useful. You can still use him. You don’t need to kill him.”

“Shut up, Stark,” Killian says through gritted teeth. The orange burning under his skin becomes brighter, more white. “If you don’t stop talking I’ll melt your mouth together. I only need your mind.”

“Fine, then do it! Just let Steve go.”  
  
Killian rolls his eyes and turns back to Steve, ignoring Tony’s repeated pleas. “Hmm. How should I do it? I could just snap your neck, but that’s boring. There’s no artistry in it. You’re an artist, aren’t you, Cap? I’m sure you would understand.” His eyes light up. “You ever been on fire?” he asks, as if it’s a completely normal question to ask someone. “Kind of funny, considering you were frozen and all. Fire and ice. Huh. Yeah, that’s poetic. That’s something that will stick in people’s minds.”   
  
Steve clenches his jaw. He’ll take the pain, he just wishes that Tony wasn’t here to see this. He has no doubt it’ll traumatize him, and if he survives, he’ll go on blaming himself.

“Killian, don’t—don’t do this,” Tony says. His eyes are wide and imploring. “Don’t drag him into this. It’s me you want. Kill me instead.”

“Tony—”  
  
“Both of you, just—be quiet.” There’s a vein throbbing on Killian’s temple and he closes his eyes for a few seconds. “Look at that, you’ve given me a headache. Didn’t even think that was still possible.” He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, staring straight at Steve with a crazed smile. “I’m not changing my mind, Captain. We have what we need from you. There’s no point in keeping you alive.” 

Steve takes one more glance at Tony, whose frenzied struggling has renewed. He nods, trying to give him all the reassurance he can muster, before focusing back on Killian. 

Killian takes a few steps back. His skin burns the brightest Steve’s ever seen it, a brilliant orange-white, and Steve closes his eyes, waiting for the heat, the agony, to wash over him. But it doesn’t come.

There’s the sound of grunting and shuffling. Killian shouts, “Why can’t you just leave things alone, you little bitch?” and Steve opens his eyes.

Tony, who somehow managed to escape his captors, amazing, brilliant, _ courageous _Tony, is grappling with Killian. His suit is torn and completely unusable, all his most vulnerable points are exposed, and yet he’s still trying to fight Killian.

Before Steve can do anything, before he can even take in a breath, Killian smashes a red-hot fist against Tony’s temple. He throws him to the ground and kicks him in the chest, then kneels down and proceeds to slam Tony’s head into the dirt, once, twice, until everything is silent and all that can be heard are Killian’s heavy breaths as he straightens up.

Tony doesn’t get back up.

He lies there face down, completely motionless. 

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s started moving, that he’s somehow wrenched his arms out of the agents’ grasps and is running straight towards Tony, until he scoops him up into his arms and dodges the AIM agents as they go after him. 

Tony’s body is terrifyingly limp in his hold and blood is still steadily leaking from his head. Steve knows he’s not supposed to move someone with a head injury, but he has no idea what else he can do.

Tony’s still, so, so still, and that’s just wrong, that’s not how Tony is, Tony is movement, energy, he’s the sun and fire and a supernova, he radiates life and warmth—not once has Steve ever seen him not talking, not moving, even when they were—to see him so pale and silent is disturbing, uncanny, like the world has gone upside down and they’re trapped in the shadow of what it should be.

Steve immediately heads for the cornfield up ahead that should provide some coverage. He puts an extra burst of energy into his run, not daring to look behind him and see how close AIM are at his tails.

After several minutes of desperate running and getting smacked in the face by cornstalks, he slows down, breathing heavily. Tony is still unresponsive, and that—that’s not good. Steve can feel him breathing shallowly, can feel his pulse, so at least he’s alive, but that means nothing when it was his head that was injured—if Tony’s brain was damaged, Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive himself. Not that he would anyway, but—

It’s silent. Too silent. Steve knows there’s no way that AIM aren’t still on the lookout for them, and he definitely doesn’t think that he lost them even in the cornfield. So they’re up to something, and Steve is certain that he’s not going to like it. 

He frowns and keeps pushing forward, part of his brain focused on making sure that Tony’s still breathing, that he’s still alive, and the other part watching out for any stray AIM agents. Several minutes pass, and still nothing. Sweat drips at Steve’s brow, mixing with the blood and dirt already caking his face.

His heart is pounding with terror, adrenaline keeping him tense and his body shaking. He has no idea what’s going on, where he is. Tony is unconscious and bleeding out, and Steve has no idea if his brain is damaged or not, and now AIM are playing tricks on him. Several times he thinks he sees a shadow move past, only to whip around and realize it’s just a cornstalk. It doesn’t stop him from clutching Tony closer, though, from moving just a little bit faster. 

It’s almost a relief when he notices the heat licking at his heels. Steve whirls around, realizing that the field has been set on fire, and a small, hysterical part of him almost expects the corn to start popping right then and there.

But of course, that doesn’t happen, and the flames only spread. Steve turns back around and starts running, only to come to a stop because there’s fire on that side, too. It’s not long before he realizes that he’s surrounded, that this is why the AIM agents suddenly stopped chasing him. Steve swallows back a scream, watching as the fire creeps closer and closer. 

Tony’s shifting in his arms, mumbling something, and Steve can’t even bring it in himself to be thankful that Tony’s awake because what does it matter if they’re just going to be ashes in a few minutes?

But Steve can’t let Tony die. They’re trapped here with a fire raging only inches away from their faces, and Steve is _ not _going to let Tony die. Not like this. He takes a deep breath, calculating how far away he is from the edge of the cornfield, and holds Tony as close as possible, face pressed against his shirt. He closes his eyes. And he runs straight into the blazing inferno.

There is no word, no phrase in the English language, that can quite describe the sensation of Steve’s entire body being set alight. It’s beyond pain, agony, it’s indescribable. Steve thought being frozen, being submerged in ice and letting icicles grow in his chest until he couldn’t feel anything was the worst pain he’d ever experienced. It had burned in a way that he didn’t think possible with ice, chilling him so thoroughly that the ice had started to feel warm against his skin.

But that is still nothing compared to the feeling of his skin blackening, burning, until he’s just a raw mass of exposed nerve endings, and soon those are incinerated, too. Steve thinks he can hear screaming, but over the roar of the fire everything is muffled. All he can see is red—red, red, red, a blazing ball of fury striking at him.

The mass in his arms is struggling, lashing out, and by this point Steve doesn’t know why it’s so important, he just knows it is, that it’s the reason why he’s willingly putting him through his torture. 

Steve keeps running, even though he feels like nothing more than just bone, even though it hurts so much more than he can ever put to word, even though he no longer knows why he’s here or what led him to be in so much pain. He just hopes that it will end sometime soon—someday soon, somehour soon, somemonth soon.

Just soon. 

Steve has no idea how much time has passed by the time he bursts out into the open. All he can see are blinding white flashes, and the heat is still on him, but he knows, he _ knows _somehow, that he’s escaped, and he falls to his knees, screaming. He drops whatever was in his arms and throws himself onto the ground, trying to get the residual flames off of him before they swallow him up.

He gasps for fresh, clean air as he lies on his stomach. He can still smell the burning, the smoke, but it’s no longer as pervading, forcing its way into his lungs and incinerating him up from the inside. 

He coughs, feeling his throat crack. Those bright, white images are still seared into his corneas, but he thinks he can see a little bit more. There’s a dark shape in front of him, unmoving, but making sounds.

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s about to pass out until everything goes black.

Everything is raw when he awakens—that’s the only way to describe it. Everything hurts, feels like a thousand needles digging into his skin.

Steve moans, and then lets out an instinctive cry because even his _ throat _feels tender and sore. He opens his eyes, and he can’t see anything, and that just makes him panic even more.

“Sh, sh,” says a gentle voice. “Steve, it’s me. It’s Nat. You’re okay. You’re in the Medbay. There’s bandages over your eyes because they were damaged, but you’re fine now. You’re healing.”  
  
“What happened?” Steve croaks, because last thing he can remember is being eaten up by what was probably the most intense pain of his life.

“You were—well, you decided to run through fire,” Natasha says bluntly. “And then you were on fire. I don’t know how long you were in there, but the doctors estimated about—two minutes based on your burns? They weren’t sure because you’re, well, you’re you.”

Why would he have done that? Why would he have run through fire, what could have possibly—Steve shoots up, ignores the stabbing pain the movement causes. “Tony,” he gasps, “where’s Tony? Is he—where’s Tony, Natasha, is he okay?”  
  
“Steve, please relax,” Natasha says quickly, “you’re going to open your wounds. Stark, he’s—I don’t know, really. He was in worse shape than you, so…” she trails off.

A sharp pain, like he’s been stabbed, jolts through Steve’s chest. Moments ago he thought being on fire could have been the most painful thing he would ever experience, but now he knows that’s not true, because Tony—he went through _ fire _ for him, there’s no way, after all that, Tony could be—after all they’ve been through— “No,” he says, “no, he can’t—we didn’t—he—Natasha, please—”   
  
Something starts letting out an incessant beeping noise, but Steve ignores it, too caught up in his grief and panic. 

“Steve—”  
  
“He _ can’t _ be, he’s, he’s Iron Man, he’s invincible!”

He hears muffled talking, but none of it registers with him, until he’s—blissfully unconscious once again.

The next time he wakes up the bandages over his eyes are gone.

Steve blinks, wincing against the fluorescent white lights. They uncomfortably remind him of what he had just gone through, what he had done to save Tony, not that any of it mattered in the end. The pain, the rawness, has diminished. If he focuses he can feel phantom knives poking into him, but it’s not unbearable, not like—

“Steve, how are you feeling?” He turns his head to face Natasha, who’s looking concerned. This time, Thor, Bruce, and Clint are with her, though he doesn’t know for certain that she was alone the first time.

“Like shit,” he manages after a while. “Tony?” He doesn’t miss the way everyone’s (except Natasha’s) eyes darken, but he ignores it.   
  
“He’s stable,” Natasha says, and the clenching pressure around Steve’s heart loosens up.

“Good, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way—what were you thinking,” Clint starts, “what the—what the _ fuck _ , man?”   
  
“Clint,” Bruce starts warningly.

Clint holds up a hand. “No, let me finish. You actually—you _ actually _ —ran through _ fire _. I thought I was supposed to be the dumb one here, but—” he lets out a bitter laugh, “—that, that takes the cake.”

“I couldn’t let Tony die,” is all Steve says. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the image of Killian striking Tony in the head, of the ruby red blood slipping down his pale temples.

Clint bristles at that. “Oh, so now it’s all about that—that—_ soulless monster _ , huh, and what about yourself—”   
  
“Clint, just stop!” Natasha shouts. Her green eyes flicker towards Steve, and her lips part. For once in her life, she looks completely unsure of herself, but she presses on anyway. “Tony’s Iron Man.”   
  
There’s silence, all of them unsure of what to say. Steve because he can’t believe Natasha would expose their teammate like that, and the others, he’s sure, in disbelief.

“What—”  
  
“Steve said it, last time he woke up. I don’t even think he realized. At first I just brushed it off, but it—it made sense, okay? I’d been suspecting it ever since he first told us about AIM, and—I’m not going to let you talk about our teammate like that.” She blinks, and realization blooms in her eyes. “No, I’m not going to let you talk about _ anyone _ like that. If he hates me for revealing it, then fine, but I’m not going to stand by anymore. I’m not going to let us keep being ungrateful assholes to a man who houses us, who gives us food and money, who does _ everything _ for us.”

Clint bites his lip, looking appropriately chastised. Thor is solemn, his face thunderous. Bruce has retreated into himself, wrapping his arms around his torso. Besides, well, _ Iron Man _, he was probably the one who knew Tony the best. They didn’t necessarily get along, but Steve knows they’d worked together a few times, and that Bruce could at the very least tolerate Tony.

Steve wets his lips. “It—it’s true. All of it. We were fighting together, and—we really fucked this one up, didn’t we?”  
  
Bruce lets out a low laugh. “To be fair, he didn’t exactly help as Iron Man.” But before they can protest, he continues. “But we shouldn’t have let that stop us. We should have made our own judgments. Especially me,” he says miserably.   
  
Steve almost jumps to his defense, but it feels weak, like they’re trying to make themselves feel better for judging a man who didn’t deserve it. Making excuses. Steve won’t deny that Tony made it extremely, _ extremely _hard. But he should have kept trying. He shouldn’t have written him off in that first meeting, when he was angry and depressed and empty, still recovering from the ice. All of this could have been avoided if he just took the time to break through Tony’s walls.

“I should have known,” Thor says, his blue eyes dim. “I was very much like him—what we _ thought _he was—before I came down to Midgard. I should have been the last one to judge him so harshly.”

Clint laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I was the blind one. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to sit here feeling sorry for myself.” He looks around at the team, his gaze piercing. “I fucked up. We all fucked up. There’s nothing we can do about that anymore. But we _can_ apologize, try to make this up, and that’s not going to happen if we all just keep making excuses for what we did.”

They all nod hesitantly. Privately, Steve thinks there won’t be a problem with Tony forgiving them. He hates that they won’t even have to try, but with the way Tony is, he won’t acknowledge how much it hurt in the first place.

“Where is he?” Steve asks, deciding that he needs to see Tony right now. Just to—make sure he’s okay, after everything they’ve gone through together.

“No,” Natasha says immediately. “You’re staying right here. Might I remind you that you were burned alive just a day ago?”  
  
“So was Tony,” Steve retorts, throwing the blanket off of him. The majority of his burns are healing over, scabbed and flaking. He’s sure he’s not very appealing to look at right now, but he doesn’t care about that. All he cares about is Tony. 

“Steve,” Bruce starts, “you need to stay in bed.”  
  
Steve ignores him, moves so that his legs are hanging over the edge. He pulls the IVs out of his arm, takes off the pulse oximeter. Thor and Clint both have their hands up, like they want to push him back, but are unsure of how that would aggravate his injuries. Good. Means that he won’t have to force his way through. “Not until I see Tony.” He gets up, stumbles once, but the soles of his feet are probably the least damaged parts of his body right now, and he adjusts quickly to standing.

“Okay, I guess this is happening,” Clint says. Thor looks at him and shrugs.

Steve heads over to the door, hearing shuffling behind him. Apparently they’ve decided that if they can’t keep him in bed, they’ll just follow him instead.

“You don’t even know where he is,” Natasha says when he stops and stands in the hallway, rolling her eyes. “Idiot. Follow me.” She heads down the left side, scowling at anyone who even looks like they’re going to say something about Steve being out of bed. Despite hobbling along on crutches, she still poses an intimidating sight.

It’s as they’re walking that Steve notices the amount of bandages covering his body. He’s almost certain he looks like one of those mummies. His arms are completely wrapped up, and so are his legs. Under the flimsy hospital gown he’s wearing, his abdomen is tightly wrapped. The burns, from what he can see, are not so bad now, though. They’re dark and pink, but don’t look as bad as they probably looked just a few hours ago.

“Here.” Natasha stops at a door that looks like any other one and opens it, peeking inside. After a few moments of talking with whoever’s inside, she turns to Steve and nods.

Steve doesn’t wait any longer, pushing past Natasha and throwing open the door. He only takes a second to look at Tony—wholly undamaged, completely lucid and awake, before he rushes at Maya, seated beside Tony’s bed, and slams her against the wall. “What did you do to him?” he demands, panic overtaking every fiber of his body. If she’d experimented on Tony— “What did you do?”  
  
“Steve, stop!” Tony cries. 

“He asked me to!” Maya shouts, eyes wide with fear. “He asked me to do it, ask him, he’ll tell you!”  
  
“I did tell her to, Steve, leave her alone!” Tony tugs at his shoulder, trying to pull him away from Maya. “I swear, I told her to do it!”

Steve pauses, staring at her face. Her wide eyes, frantic with fear, because _ he _ attacked her like an animal, didn’t even stop think before he could have seriously injured a civilian. He lowers his arms and lets her go. “I—sorry, I didn’t—”   
  
“Nah, I get it,” Maya waves it off. “It does look kind of bad. I’d probably be mad if he was my boyfriend, too.”   
  
“No, I—still, I shouldn’t have—it’s just—” Steve can’t find the words to explain what went through him. He just knows that seeing Tony sitting there, looking as though he didn’t even have a scratch, he panicked. With all AIM has done, and the fact that Maya was part of them— “I’m so sorry. I don’t usually—”

“It’s fine,” Maya says firmly. “I swear.” 

There’s a warm hand on his arm. He turns to look at Tony, who’s somehow more earnest than Steve has ever seen him. Up close, Steve realizes he’s not completely healed, but he’s farther along in the process than even Steve. “I told her to do it, Steve. I would have died otherwise.”  
  
“Don’t—don’t say it like that,” Steve says desperately. He doesn’t want to think about anything involving Tony and death.

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off before he can even speak.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going?” Clint asks loudly from the doorway. Steve turns, realizing he had forgotten the team was there, that the team had seen him freak out and attack an innocent civilian.

“Maya injected me with a simple strain of Extremis,” Tony says smoothly. “Should be obvious, considering how… unburnt I am. God, that was painful.”  
  
“I’m so sor—” Steve starts.

Tony holds up a hand, not even looking at him. “You, shut up. It wasn’t your fault.” Steve wisely closes his mouth.

“So, what can you do? Are you like all the…” Bruce makes a waving motion as though imitating flickering flames.  
  
“If you mean that I can turn myself into a living candle, then no. It’s—really basic. Just accelerated healing, maybe some enhanced strength? Not really sure yet. But that’s not the point.” He eyes them all, considering. “Since you’re all conveniently here, we need to deal with AIM.” Tony pulls up a hologram. “I’ve already started coming up with a plan. Steve, go to bed. The doctors are looking for you. The rest of you, I need you here.”

“What? No, I’m staying right here.”   
  
Tony looks at him, clearly about to argue, but stops upon seeing the steely look in Steve’s eyes. He lets out an aggravated sigh and tilts his head towards his unoccupied bed. “Okay, fine, get into my bed. Not like I need it anyway.”

Steve gets the feeling that he shouldn’t argue too much with Tony right now, so he obediently slips into the hospital bed. The rest of the team gathers around the hologram. Maya has some sort of silent conversation with Tony for a few moments, before she nods and leaves the room.

“Okay,” Tony says, and claps his hands together. He takes a look at what’s on the screen, and then stops. “I’m surprised you’re not immediately throwing me in jail for leaving Iron Man to die.”  
  
Steve sees the shift on their faces, the discomfort and unease clearly becoming more pronounced. Thor crosses his arms over his chest, glancing down, while Bruce hunches his shoulders. Clint shuffles his feet. Natasha is the only one remaining as impassive as ever.

“About that…” Clint says slowly. He’s staring hard at his feet. He doesn’t continue.

Thor huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “We—were told some things.”

Tony frowns, clearly waiting for them to finish.

Natasha rolls her eyes and steps forward. “I told them you’re Iron Man,” she says, ripping the bandaid off with none of her usual tact and delicacy.  
  
“Oh,” Tony says neutrally, not betraying any emotion. Steve chances a glance at him, but he doesn’t—look upset. He doesn’t _ seem _ upset either, his gaze as steady as ever. Steve doesn’t know Tony as well as he would like, doesn’t know every single one of his tells, but the one thing he _ has _ picked up on is how expressive Tony’s eyes are. It’s usually near impossible for Tony to hide any emotion in them, so he really must not be bothered. “And you knew how?”   
  
“Steve. He didn’t mean to—he was barely lucid. It just—look, don’t blame him. If you want to be angry at me for exposing you, then that’s fine. I’ll accept it. But Steve had nothing to do with it.” Natasha lifts her chin slightly, preparing for whatever Tony’s going to say in response.   
  
“I’m not,” Tony says, shrugging. “I was going to tell you guys anyway. Figured that since Steve knows, it didn’t make sense to keep it a secret from the rest of you.” That does come as a surprise to Steve. Considering the lengths Tony went to just so people didn’t find out the truth he didn’t think that he would willingly admit it. But then, he supposes it doesn’t make sense for Steve to know Tony’s identity and not the rest of the team. 

“Stark,” Clint says, and then stops. “_ Tony _. I—look, I’m bad with apologies, but—”

“Oh, no, don’t start this,” Tony says under his breath, too quiet for anyone but Steve to hear. 

He thinks he’ll stay out of this for now. He hasn’t even begun to try and make up for the way he treated Tony, but this is the team’s moment. Not his. He’ll hopefully have more time later to apologize. And to maybe—talk about what he said in the battle. 

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t excuse what I said or did, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I just want you to know that I was wrong, for what it’s worth. I’m fine if you don’t trust me. I get it, but—”  
  
“Can we not do this? Can we really not? I just want to deal with AIM and put all this behind us.”   
  
Natasha and Clint share a glance. “Tony,” she says softly, “we just want you to know that we’re sorry, and that we’re willing to do whatever we can to make it up to you. We all know that we don’t deserve your forgiveness, and never will. But you’re a valued member of our team, and—”   
  
Tony lets out a groan, covering his face and tilting his head back. “My god, you guys are so annoying and stubborn. Okay, yes, you were dicks. So was I! What do you want me to say? I forgive you? Well, it doesn’t fucking matter because I engineered it all! I _ made _you say those things! So yeah, you were assholes, but I was, too, and it really doesn’t matter right now or ever because quite frankly, there are more important things to do than talk about our feelings! So can we just move on for now and focus on AIM?”

They all look hesitant, but clearly decide not to push the matter. “Alright,” Bruce says. “What are your thoughts?”  
  
Tony points to the text on the screen. “My original plan didn’t work. I didn’t realize just how big and pervasive AIM was, so I thought I could—do it by myself, you know? Just get the formula, let Killian think he had his big break or whatever, then destroy everything from the inside out. That didn’t happen obviously, and I came to a new conclusion.” He pauses abruptly, looking incredibly annoyed and put-out at whatever he just realized. “We have to kill… Killian. _ Goddammit. _”

Clint snorts, but quickly stops after a sharp look from Natasha.

“AIM’s not going to stop until Killian’s down,” Tony continues, sighing, “and from there it should be easy to get everyone else.” 

“So we… draw Killian out,” Steve says, “pin him down. Kill him.”  
  
“Shouldn’t be too hard to bait him. He wants the formula, which I have.” Tony tilts his head, thinking. “But he’s smart. Arrogant and cocky, sure, but still smart. He might not fall for the same trick twice.”   
  
“He might just be desperate enough to go for it, anyway,” Natasha suggests. “He’s lost you, what, twice now?”   
  
“I don’t know.” Tony taps his foot against the floor. “I have to think about it. There has to be a better way.”   
  
Bruce purses his lips. “I have no right to ask this of you, but will you—are you—are you working with us? You’re—keeping us in the loop this time?”   
  
“Yeah.” Tony shrugs. “What can you do? I fucked up once. Maybe this time we can do better.”   
  
“That’s… remarkably mature of you,” Natasha says.

Tony shoots her a grin. “I know. I’m surprised, too. Maybe Iron Man has rubbed off on me.”  
  
They all wisely choose not to comment on that. 

“Let’s, uh, let’s continue this tomorrow, maybe?” Tony asks. “JARVIS has been fending off the doctors while Steve is cooped up in here, but I don’t want any of them to get aneurysms before they even see their patient.”

“Sure,” Natasha says slowly. She blinks at Tony, then shrugs it off. 

“I’ve got Steve,” Tony says. “I’ll get him back, don’t worry.”

“Alright then. Uh, see you, Tony, Steve,” Clint says awkwardly, before helping Natasha out of the room.  
  
Bruce and Thor give their own goodbyes before dispersing.

Tony lets out a sigh, turning to Steve. “Alrighty, Cap, let’s get you back in your own room.” He helps Steve out of the bed and slings an arm around his shoulders, which is entirely unnecessary, but Steve just rolls his eyes and accepts it for now.  
  
“How did you get Extremis?” Steve asks. “Wouldn’t the doctors have been seeing you?”

“I… may have convinced Natasha to call Maya as we were flying over. I gave her the formula, and,” Tony shrugs, “the rest is history.”

“There you are, Captain Rogers!” a woman shouts as she runs up to them, interrupting Steve’s response to what Tony just said. “What are you doing out of bed? I’m Helen Cho, I’m your doctor. And you, mister, are in a lot of trouble. I don’t care if you’re a supersoldier and have healed enough to be walking around. You’re still my patient, and that means I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”  
  
Steve winces. “I’m—I’m sorry, I just—really wanted to see Tony.”   
  
Helen’s face softens slightly as she glances over at Tony, Steve’s arm still slung over his shoulders. But she shakes her head. “Nope. You know the rules. Back in bed right now.”   
  
Tony smiles at her blindingly. “Don’t worry, Helen, I was just escorting him back.”

Helen huffs, but follows them as they make their way towards Steve’s room, gaze trained on them as though she expects Steve to collapse at any moment.

Once he’s back in bed, a nurse comes by to put back in the IV and make sure all the machines are properly monitoring him. After, Helen assesses Steve’s recovery. All the while, Tony’s standing by his side, waiting patiently because Steve asked him to.

“You’re healing as expected with the serum,” Helen says once she’s done, glancing at her clipboard. “I expect it will only be, at most, another day before those bandages can be removed. I’m going to prescribe you a topical ointment to soothe any itching or pain from the burns as you heal and an antibiotic just to prevent infections. But other than that, you’re good to go, Captain Rogers.”

“Great, thanks,” Steve says. “And I can be discharged soon?” It probably makes him a hypocrite, but despite all his pestering for his teammates to always check into medical if they’re injured, and to stay there, he himself _ hates _ being in hospitals, and has been caught sneaking out multiple times. Really, all of the Avengers are terrible at staying in medical for anything longer than a few hours.   
  
“Yes, as soon as we remove your bandages.” Helen smiles at him. “Anything else?”   
  
All he really wants is for Helen to leave—no offense to her—so that he can speak with Tony privately. “No, no, I don’t think so,” Steve says quickly. “I’m fine.”   
  
“Okay. See you soon, Captain Rogers.” Helen leaves, and Tony sends Steve a tight smile. He makes to follow after her, but Steve quickly grabs his wrist.

“Wait. Stay, please.”  
  
Tony pauses, glancing down at where Steve is gripping his wrist. “Okay,” he says.

“I just have a few more questions. What you said earlier, about making the formula on the Quinjet. You were conscious? For all of it?” Steve shivers just thinking about the horrible pain he had gone through. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Tony.  
  
Tony sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning his head against his palm. “Kind of? Not really. I don’t remember any of it, to be honest. I didn’t even know I had Extremis when I woke up.”

“Wait, also, how did you—” A thought occurs to Steve. “How did you know JARVIS was talking to the doctors?”  
  
The smile that grows on Tony’s face is a secretive, mischievous one. “I may have… forgotten to mention I made some modifications to Extremis.”   
  
“What did you do?” Steve asks in alarm. 

“Oh, just—technopathic abilities. Nothing serious. But it’s really cool,” Tony says brightly. “I can talk to JARVIS in my head now!”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Uh. You—you—okay.” He feels like he should say something about that, but he just brushes it off for now, wanting to speak about… other things. _ Later _ , he tells himself. “Can we… can we talk, though?”   
  
“We’re talking right now,” Tony says, and Steve can tell he’s not trying to be difficult. He’s just stating a fact.

“No, no, I mean, about…” Steve trails off.

“About what?”  
  
“About the fact that I—I love you.”   
  
Tony smiles at him again, but it’s sadder, softer this time. “Soon, Cap. I promise.” He gets up off the bed, brushing off his knees. “I have to go figure out what we’re doing with AIM.” Steve knows a dismissal when he sees one.

“Yeah. Alright.”  
  
Tony nods at him and heads toward the door. “See you, Steve.”   
  
“See you,” Steve says quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how this chapter turned out. I'm kind of rusty with my writing.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this doesn’t come across as Steve the big bad meanie and Tony the poor misunderstood woobie. I mean, yes, we know that Steve’s thoughts about Tony are wrong and that he’s hurting Tony with what he says, but Tony does absolutely nothing to fix those assumptions, and in fact, intentionally makes this worse because he’s an idiot. If and when Steve knows the truth, he would feel absolutely horrible for what he did and said.
> 
> My point is, they’re both assholes in here and they both do dumb things but learn to move on from that. No one person is the bad guy in here.
> 
> I'm thinking of finishing the third chapter before posting the second one, so that I can stay ahead.
> 
> If you guys like this, I would really appreciate if you left a comment or kudos! Also, follow me on Tumblr at [starxxreactor](https://starxxreactor.tumblr.com.)


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